Police Academy 8: Police And Prejudice
by Amymimi
Summary: Is Captain Thaddeus Harris more than just an arrogant, hard-nosed cop? Read to find out. Rated for language. New chapters up!
1. Recruiting the Hopeless

**A/N: Hello, readers! I know you're accustomed to reading my Monk and/or PoTC stories, but I'm branching out a bit with this one! I recently watched this series, and well, I had my own opinions on what should happen next! Please let me know what you think! I should be good about updating this, so don't fear!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the recognizable characters of the Police Academy (Lassard, Harris, Callahan, Hightower, Hooks, Jones, etc) but I do own non-recognizable characters (essentially, everyone else in the story). I'm not making any money from writing this.**

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As I was escorted into the police station, I was told it was my last chance. The next time this happened I would be getting hard time and not just a slap on the wrist, my arresting officers informed me. As if _they_ would know. Dumb cops. Busted again for stealing my ex-boyfriend's car—which he most definitely gave to me while we were still together—I stood for my mug shot, rolling my eyes each time the photographer would ask me to turn or that my placard was too low or crooked. Damn perfectionist.

This was the third time I'd be arrested for a crime related to that prick ex of mine, who was happily smiling at my arrest write-up in the paper, I was sure—that is, if he even thought of me anymore. Not that he didn't think of me when he found his car missing from his driveway yet again—but _really_, thought of me.

I was now 34, largely unemployed, obsessed with the days when I still believed I had a future to look forward to. Not anymore. I did manage to find a place of my own, though it was in a basement apartment and had quite the roach problem. It was damn cheap though and the place was pet-friendly. The roach traps seemed to work fine and because I kept my pantry pretty empty most of the time though—I didn't have money to afford to buy lots of food—I hadn't seen the bugs in almost half a year now.

Yeah, my life pretty much sucked at this point. Granted, this was not the ultimate low point of my life, but it was close. I needed to detach myself from the memory of my hope-filled past and face a stark reality full of disappointment and failure.

I hadn't even been paying attention to the photographer woman during the last couple of pictures she snapped and slowly heard her voice seep into my consciousness as I then realized what was going on.

"Hey, Lady; you deaf?" the lady's nasal voice called out. I blinked several times, turning my head and allowing my eyes to focus on her.

"Sorry," I muttered. "What?"

"I need to get your fingerprints. Make sure you're not Al Caponing yourself. Step this way, Missy."

I rolled my eyes again at the irritating way she addressed me. She knew damn well that my name was April Carnegie (yes, _that_ Carnegie) and that I'd had 'photo sessions' with her before. Was this arrest process supposed to be such a demeaning experience _all_ the time? It was a wonder that more petty criminals didn't try to kill themselves due to their plummeting self-esteem after such a painstaking process.

I underwent the process of the inking, which tends to stain my fingers for days to come. …Not that I should've been aware of that. This time I swore would be the last time I thought of that asshole from my past or did anything involving him whatsoever. I needed a new obsession.

After I made my customary single phone call to my parents, two rather dimwitted cops escorted me to a holding cell, which was thankfully empty. Sadly, I was feeling almost accustomed to this by now, the third time I'd experienced being arrested. My first arrest was for destruction of property. Apparently dumping an ashtray in someone's yard is considered a crime. Who knew? My second and third arrests were for theft of the car.

"Can you post bail?" one of the cops asked. He was rather tall and had these striking green eyes, but there was nothing up in that head of his. Even so, I snuck a peek at his ring finger. No wedding ring. Wait, what the hell was I doing? I was probably five years older than this dumb schmuck!

"No," I admitted, a frown on my face. My parents would let me sit here and stew for a couple of days to 'teach me a lesson,' they had explained earlier over the phone. As if that helped last time I was arrested!

They had been rather uninvolved parents my whole life. I was the middle child in a family of five, and my four other siblings had since moved far away and practically disowned their black sheep of a sister. I had only spent less than a year of quality time with my parents when I was first born, and then they went and conceived yet another sibling only ten months after I was born. Maybe this arrest thing was a cry for attention. It was as if I had no one to genuinely care about me—rather, I had people that were 'concerned' about me. My father had inherited a rather hefty portion of the massive Carnegie estate and they feared I'd tarnish their name. That was the only reason they gave a shit.

Even so, I had to wonder how I'd been caught for the third time. How would I get out of jail this time? I had no real money besides the meager amount I'd earn for part time and temp work, mainly in a kind of janitorial-type or orderly-type job.

I sat in my cell with hands clasped on my lap, staring down the hall at the warmly lit policemen's offices. It was then that a shadow blocked the door, a cop obviously headed out of the office area. He was built rather solidly and wore his hat with pride, though he was at least half a foot shorter than the other cops. He strode down the hall at a leisurely pace, his chin held high, a metal baton in his hand tucked under his left armpit, a clipboard under his right arm. I'd never seen this guy before. He was too old to be new here and yet he didn't seem all that old.

I figured that by the time he came to the T at the end of the hall, he'd turn left or right and completely avoid the holding cell. As he came closer, I could see his eyes wondering about the hall, occasionally focusing on the holding cell, on me. I let out a sigh. Was this meeting of eyes the only human interaction I'd have for the rest of the day?

Surprisingly, he stopped directly in front of my cell, swinging his baton around so that he now held it in both his hands. His head cocked to one side, he eyed me up and down, making me feel kind of awkward in my prison-issued garb, my hair a disaster.

"My name is Captain Thaddeus Harris," he announced, puffing out his chest. "I normally don't interact with inmates but I come to you today after being told that this arrest, Miss Carnegie—" he stated with an air of pride, his use of my name making me uneasy, "—is now your third arrest in less than two years. I see you haven't yet made bail. Are you choosing to punish yourself for awhile here or don't you have the money to get yourself out?"

I paused for a moment, annoyed at his chiding tone.

"The second one," I admitted stoically.

"And you are unemployed, yes?" his dictation perfect. I noticed a hint of stubble on his face, a dabbling of rather deep pockmarks on both of his cheeks. His brown eyes bore into mine, locking my eyes onto his.

"Yeah," I replied, disgusted.

"How do you propose to _make_ bail then, may I ask?"

"My parents will eventually do it," I said under my breath.

"Ah," he stated, his gravelly voice raising a few notes. He promptly stuck the baton under his left armpit again, pulling the clipboard out from under his right arm.

"Your parents are Emma and David Carnegie," he stated, glancing down at the papers on the clipboard. I rolled my eyes. "You're an heiress to the Carnegie steel fortune, am I right?"

"I don't think so," I admitted with a sigh. He looked a bit taken aback at my denial of his statement, but let me continue to speak. "I have four siblings who are all upstanding citizens. Whatever's left after my parents burn though that money will be divided among them. I'm the black sheep of the family."

"Ah. Even so, why steal a _Corsica_—twice?" he asked rather bluntly, his voice soft yet teasing.

"It was my ex's car that he gave to me when we temporarily reunited last—"

"Oh," he replied thoughtfully, his eyebrows raised to cast light into his eyes, "so you have the title for the car? We can let you out of here right now if you can produce that for us."

"Well, I can't."

"Why not?" he said, his grin knowing, cocky.

"I don't have it."

"Ah," he said, proud of himself. "Well then, it's not your car, is it?"

His voice was thick with irony and utterly dripping with arrogance as he spoke at me. I couldn't really consider it speaking_ to_ me being as he acted as if he knew the answers before I even said them. It irritated me to no end and yet there was a softness to his voice, an amiability hidden under all that egotistical garbage.

"Whatever," I said with a sneer. "I'm done with him and his piece of shit car."

"Language, Carnegie," he scolded with a ticking sound, shaking his head. "Just because you're in jail doesn't mean you have to act like you are. How old are you?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Thirty-four," I replied.

"Thirty-four," he responded. "I wouldn't have guessed that. More like twenty-one, I'd say."

I barely stifled a smile. So he was complimenting my looks. I hadn't known cops could do that to the inmates.

"Why?" I said, subconsciously sitting up a little straighter. "Do I look that young?"

"Hell no," he said, exposing a row of straight white teeth as he smiled. "It's just, I thought only teenagers and people in their early twenties were capable of such infantile crimes."

I let out a sigh, hoping he'd go away soon. What more did he need to know? He knew that (a) I was stuck here as long as it took for my parents to decide to bail me out and (b) that I was thirty-four, unemployed, and depending on my parents to bail me out—basically, a loser.

"What do you need a car for if you're jobless?" he added with a sneer. I was beginning to not like him very much… well, not at all, actually. He was arrogant and proud and enjoyed watching me squirm at his questions and comments.

"It's the principle," I replied, looking down at my feet. "But it doesn't matter anymore…"

"Now, I'm going to say this only once," he began, and then stopped talking, waiting for me to look up at him. I did so after the silence continued for several seconds.

"—have you heard of the Metropolitan Police Academy?" he asked, a new fire in his eyes.

"You mean, the one only a couple blocks from here? Yeah."

"I'm an instructor there as well as maintaining a position in this precinct," he explained, looking proud. "The training course just began yesterday, but they like to have us start with a full roster of recruits. We have one remaining position."

"Are you saying that I—?"

"Yes," he said smugly.

"But don't I have to have some kind of prerequisite to—"

"Nope—unfortunately," he replied, looking a bit disgusted. "In many cases we simply find the most worthless, destitute yet potentially redeemable people from this very jail—people just like yourself—and turn them into productive members of society. So, what do you say? Wanna be a cop?"

His words had cut me pretty deeply. It wasn't often—well, it wasn't ever—that people came right out and told me I was worthless. I wasn't the kind of person to cry but after those words had left his mouth I almost felt like doing so.

"A cop?" I replied, attempting to keep my voice as normal as possible. "A female cop?"

"Odder things have happened," he shot back snootily. "Like, for example, a thirty-four year old woman stealing her high school ex's property—twice."

Damn it. I should be livid, utterly pissed off at the way he was talking to me. He had left the thin red line between curiosity and rudeness and firmly planted himself in rude territory. Instead, I found myself in the grips of sorrow and self-pity.

"He's not from high school," I said, my voice quavering. Damn it to hell. My eyes were watering, and this bastard in front of me was gloating in that fact.

"Well then, where's he from? The unemployment office?"

"No," I shot back, revolted by his attempt to make light of my shitty situation. "College."

"Ah, college," he said, at complete inner peace. It was as if his ego was literally feeding off my silent tears. "Dropped out when he broke up with you, eh?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes. I went to a small college, and I couldn't stand seeing him every day after that. But he gave me the car years later—"

"I thought you women were supposed to be getting all independent and feministic—this _is_ 1995, after all," he stated, ignoring my last statement. He stopped for a moment, tucking the clipboard under his arm, considering something as I sniveled in my cell.

"What do you want from me?" I suddenly blurted. I couldn't take much more of this no-nonsense ego-bashing. I had a frail enough ego as it was, and this was going to kill me if he didn't stop.

"I want to know if you'd be interested in joining the academy. It's an intensive, 14 week course but then you _are_ a bona fide police officer when you're finished."

"Oh, I'd never even considered being—" I began but was instantly interrupted.

"We'd also pay your bail for you. You wouldn't get any jail time—which is a definite possibility since this _is_ your third arrest. Of course, you'd have to live on campus during your training, but I assure you the conditions there are better than they are here."

"Really," I said in a monotone. They'd pay my bail? That'd be great. That way, I wouldn't have to hear my parents lecture at me on the car ride back to my apartment after they bailed me out. _And_ I wouldn't have to fear any kind of sentencing.

"Really," he replied. "But you'd have to go directly there from here. We'd give you no chance to run away and steal the car again—or whatever else of your ex's you feel entitled to."

I stood up, my 5'5" height putting me almost eye to eye with him. He was not a tall man, but he was burly. His skin was olive toned, making me wonder if he was Italian. I noticed now that his nose was extremely small and that, aside from him being a total asshole, he wasn't the worst looking asshole. Like instinct, my eyes were inadvertently drawn to his bare left ring finger. This guy was smart, yes, but I'd rather have a nice dumb guy than a nasty prick of a smart guy. He looked momentarily unnerved at our closeness in height but said nothing.

"I'll do it," I stated resolutely, my back ramrod straight.

It was then that his downward-slanted mouth morphed into a toothy grin that completely changed the appearance of his face. I had pegged him at age fifty-five or so, but now I wasn't so sure he was that old.

"How old are you?" I blurted, immediately regretting screwing up this dramatic turning point of my life.

Just as I'd predicted, he looked temporarily stunned by the question, his smile disappearing as his jaw dropped a bit, exposing his bottom teeth as he held his mouth open, his eyes studying me suspiciously.

"Why do you ask?" he asked, eyes narrowed.

"No reason," I said, suddenly sounding shy. I could feel my face heating up and knew that I was blushing. I have rather pale skin which blushes ridiculously easy, and so I was certain he could see my embarrassment, more fuel for his fire. I cleared my throat. "Forget I asked."

He glared at me for a few more seconds, and then began nodding his head ever so slightly as if reaching an understanding. His glare was long gone when he spoke again, rubbing his fingers against the end of his baton.

"Is it because you feel that a police captain should be older than I am? That I'm quite young to have a joint appointment?"

So his ego was influencing his assessment of the situation. He smoothly pulled the baton out from under his arm and spun it neatly on his hand, stopping it with his left hand and eyeing me for an answer.

"Yes, that's it," I admitted, feeling a strong urge to roll my eyes but courageously resisting it.

"As a matter of fact I am fifty-one years old," he stated regally, emphasizing the number. "However," he added with a pleased smile, "I was actually promoted to the rank of captain in '86—when I was only forty-two years old." The look he had on his face basically said 'impressive, huh?' and I almost wanted to laugh at him—but then again, he was an instructor at this academy and I might as well make a good first impression.

"That's very impressive," I replied, swallowing all my pride and spewing it onto him. So he's a bit younger than I imagined, a mere sixteen years older than me. Maybe it was his sense of pride that made me feel that he was more seasoned, and thus older, than he actually was. His toothy smile emerged yet again, and he removed a hand from his baton, moving it to his hip to a key ring on his belt.

He looked down at what he was doing as he retrieved the key he needed and slipped it into the door of the holding cell. After the door had slid sideways to open, I stood there in front of him, less than two feet away from him. He held out his hand and I was a bit confused as to what to do. Apparently he wanted to shake hands. I extended my hand to him, my fingertips stained with black, and we shook hands, his grip firm and tight.

We remained standing there for several silent moments with a kind of awkwardness that wasn't present when the bars stood between us. It seemed as if he was trying hard to disguise his eyeing me up and down, which flabbergasted me. I wasn't necessarily bad looking, though I considered myself to be a rather plain, nondescript average-sized brunette with pale skin, brown eyes, and an embarrassingly flat chest. The silence was a bit unnerving, and strange more than anything else. He had been so willing to demean me while I sat behind bars, but now that I was here standing in front of him he was quiet. It was then that he cleared his throat, his hand moving to touch the round silvery tip of his baton.

"Before we bring you to the academy, you just need to sign a couple of forms. Just standard procedure. The tuition for the academy is rather high, but ever since the mayor decided to accept people from all walks of life we have to accept you if you want to join. We have one remaining female room that is only half-filled and so you would stay there."

"Ah, I see," I mumbled. "And the bail—?" I began, but was cut off.

"Don't you worry about that, Carnegie. I think the department can afford $500."

"Thank you, Sir," I replied, giving him a nod of gratitude. He looked pleased by the gesture.

"You may call me Captain Harris," he replied, swelled with utter pride, his chin up, a pleasant smile on his face. "In less formal situations, calling me Sir is acceptable."

"Yes, Captain Harris."

He looked almost happy enough to burst, and we turned to proceed to the police offices.

"Good girl," he said, and with that, he patted me on the back.

All the while my mind was a blur. Did I really just agree to attend a _police_ academy?

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**A/N: So if you like this, PLEASE review! Pretty please! Even if you see that it needs some improvement before you'd full-out like it, please review! **


	2. Playing Catch Up

**A/N: Just to clarify, even though this is "marketed" as PA 8, it is going to play out more like the first PA movie. As the movies progressed, they generally got a bit worse each time. I'd really appreciate if you like the story just to give me a little heads up. I'm not sure if the hits on this story were accidents or if people are actually reading the entire chapter.... I expected very few hits with a Police Academy fanfic, but surely there are PA fans out there?!**

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Surprisingly, Captain Harris _himself_ escorted me to the academy in his unmarked Crown Victoria. We pulled into the parking lot and I felt oddly lost. I had no real belongings with me, save for a purse, the clothes on my back, and a watch. Going away from home would have been impossible had I still lived with Cuddles, my ancient basset hound that had died only three months ago. Oh God, I thought. What am I going to do for rent while I'm gone?

"I'm renting an apartment," I managed to say. "I can't afford to keep it if I don't make any money."

"Don't you collect unemployment?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then you'll continue to do that."

"How? I can't leave."

"Don't worry about it, Carnegie. I think that's the least of your worries now."

We got out of the car and began walking towards the main building of the campus. He said nothing and I couldn't help but stare up at the big old redbrick buildings surrounded by immaculate lawns and picturesque views. The academy overlooked a beautiful lake and I watched golf carts shuttle to and fro. I'd never imagined a police academy to resemble a ritzy private college campus, yet here it was.

In the center of the campus stood a giant floral arrangement with the Metropolitan Police Academy name on it, and written along the bottom were the words Integrity, Knowledge and Courage. The main building of the campus, presumably housing the director of this program, overlooked the floral arrangement.

"Carnegie."

Suddenly Captain Harris' voice interrupted my thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Go to the supply room to pick up your uniform. You need to catch up. You've already missed one day."

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After I filled out the necessary paperwork, I was led to my room, which I would share with a sinisterly quiet giant of a woman named Gertrude Piazza. Not that she was fat, of course. She was just absurdly tall, at least 6 feet in height and very deliberate in her every moment and spoken word. It was clear that she had been waiting for this opportunity her whole life, and that I, striding in there with nothing but my purse and copies of some contracts and forms, was an embarrassment to this institution. With her height and her build, she could have easily been a model, yet here she was, sitting in some cell-sized dorm room with someone who had no right being here. I resented her immediately.

Thankfully the tense silence with Gertrude was short-lived. Within 45 minutes of my settling into the room and changing into the uniform—basically, a navy blue sweatsuit and a baseball cap—a female officer knocked on our door and told us it was dinner time. The blond, sunglass-wearing officer was also a good deal taller than me, and I wondered if there was perhaps a height requirement. I then thought of the diminutive Captain Harris and decided otherwise.

Without saying a word to Gertrude, I followed the others down the hallway into a wide open cafeteria. There were six long wooden tables set up, each consisting of many small square tables pushed together. There we stood in the buffet line and were given heaping piles of almost unrecognizable food. Rather than attempt to push myself into what appeared to be already-established cliques, I sat off to myself at one of the two empty tables. The food was surprisingly good and I kept silent, watching all the other women chat excitedly with each other.

It was not long before a bunch of men entered the cafeteria. I watched them as I chewed my food, eyeing them briefly and making my diagnoses: _that one's a mama's boy, that one probably takes joy in killing others, that one is just here to have a crowd for his comedy routin_e. They took their trays and scanned the cafeteria for empty seats, and I saw a sizable group of them head my way. The women recruits had fully filled two large tables in the cafeteria and half filling two more, leaving only my table and one other table practically empty.

Of course the comedian had to be the one to open his trap.

"What you doin' sittin' alone there, cadet?" he asked me in a stupid-sounding voice. "Don't remember seeing you yesterday."

Was this what I would have to deal with for 14 weeks? Already I wanted to go home.

"That's because I wasn't here yesterday," I deadpanned, lifting up a soup-filled spoon to my lips. "You can sit here if you want."

A couple guys behind him started to move forward to sit down, but he stuck out his arm and barred their way. I narrowed my eyes.

"Why aren't you sitting with the other girls?" he asked, not moving from his spot. "Just to let you know, this was established as the guys' table yesterday."

"I don't see a sign on it," I remarked. Several guys behind him made _ooh_ing noises. Now I was really pissed. Was this jackass really going to go further with this banal conversation?

"I can see that I've pissed you off," he said after a beat. "What's your name?"

"April."

"April, may I sit at your table?" he said, his request cut off with a snort of laughter. He looked at me and then at the guys. "Get it?! April May?! Ahahaha, what a riot!"

A couple of them laughed big belly laughs which of course encouraged this guy. Others were a bit more reserved in their response.

"I'm Norris, by the way. I'm one of the leaders of squadron D. By the way, we go by last names here," he stated as he took his seat across from me. I gave him a nod of understanding but said nothing, finishing up my soup. I was immediately thankful that I'd not sat in the center of the table where I'd be surrounded by his brainless minions.

After the guys had taken their seats they kept the conversation between themselves. I wasn't asked any more questions, and it was as if I didn't exist at their dinner table. I didn't care either way. I was just glad I wasn't trying to sleep in the holding cell, waiting for the moment that I'd be degraded by my parents in their paying my bail.

Once I'd gotten to the dessert portion of meal, which was essentially three slices of peaches in sickeningly sweet syrup, I noticed a slew of older officers in full uniform, some with stripes and some with badges, entering the cafeteria. All were wearing their police hats. I recognized Captain Harris with his baton striding to the buffet tables as he followed a buxom blonde woman, a scarily tall black guy, and a petite black woman. Several more uniformed police officers strode in after Harris. They wordlessly picked up some food on their trays. I noticed that several of the younger-looking members moved quickly through the buffet and pulled together the two small tables apparently reserved for the uniformed officers. They were quite a distance from my table at the back of the room, but I could see clearly that the inhabitants of that table spread themselves out so that it seemed that only they would fit, but when one of their friends would come along, they'd make some room. Not so much with Captain Harris. The cops at the table held their ground, leaving Harris to look irritated and to take his food out of the cafeteria.

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After dinner we were called to stand outside in our designed squadrons. Of course I had not yet been assigned a squadron so I stood around looking stupid. It was then that I saw Captain Harris and the blonde female officer standing in front of an assembled squadron.

"Captain Harris," I called, half-jogging towards the group. He had been speaking into a megaphone, that I could now see, and part of his instinctive response to my voice was amplified twenty times louder.

"WHAT THE HELL do you want?" he responded, pulling the megaphone away from his face before turning to face me. His face was dark with anger and annoyance but when he saw that it was me most of the anger dissipated.

"Right," he huffed, rolling his eyes. "Carnegie. Since you're a late addition guess that means you'll be in my squadron." He whipped out the baton and pointed it at the right rear corner of the group. "Stand back there—the far right corner," he instructed, his voice much grittier now than when we had spoken in the police station.

I had since slowed down from my jogging pace and strode through the crowd, the garbled words of Harris no longer streaming through the megaphone, until it was apparent that I was being followed. I felt hot breath on my neck and when I turned my head Harris was directly behind me.

"We don't have all day, Carnegie!" he commanded, thankfully holding his megaphone at his side. "Move it, move it!"

I picked up the pace slightly, turning around once I arrived in my spot to see that he was glaring at me. Apparently my half jog wasn't satisfactory. Tough shit for him.

"Now, dirtbags, we're going to go for a lazy after-dinner stroll," he announced. I heard a chorus of collective groans. If he expected me to run on a full stomach he had something else coming…

* * *

He actually made us run. We followed every godforsaken path around the campus, many of the squadron groaning and uttering quiet curses as their stomachs violently churned with food. It was then that I realized Norris, the comedian asshole, was the squadron leader. It began to rain only about twenty minutes into the run and with no manner of umbrellas or raincoats, we all were soaked to the bone. My hair had left the crude ponytail I had fixed for it just before dinner and was now hanging in stringy frizzy tatters around my face. My roommate Gertrude was not in this group, but there were many women here, most with their ponytails done up in such a manner that their hair did not fly loose. Norris and several of his minions ran up ahead of the rest of us, easily keeping a pace on the muddy paths that completely splashed up my shoes and my sweatpants. I watched the female officer, who I found out was named Captain Callahan, keep her pace ahead of the entire group in a red sweatsuit looking completely in her element. Captain Harris was not faring quite as well, and stayed towards the rear of the group, yelling at us daintier runners to hurry up and to move it. His graying hair was flattened to his head and he had since tucked away the megaphone where it wouldn't have water damage.

"If you maggots ran faster we'd already be done!" he'd shout as he struggled up the hills with the rest of us. When a chunky red-headed man stumbled and fell and laid there in a mud puddle for a bit, Harris would have none of it.

"Get off your ass, O'Malley!" he shouted, his voice so gruff it almost sounded choked. "Know what you look like right now? A pig in a sty!" So it wasn't just me, I mused. Harris treated everyone badly.

Finally when the day ended, I was so exhausted that I skipped the shower and simply changed into the issued pajamas after giving up on my hair. Maybe tomorrow I would tell Captain Harris that this was not the career path for me. I'd never been so tired in all my life. I didn't even remember Gertrude entering the room because when my head hit the mattress, I was out.

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**Review... pretty please?**


	3. Tripping

**Chapter 3: Tripping**

The next morning I was shaken awake by Gertrude, having slept through whatever alarm had waken her up. I was immediately in a panic. Being as I had nothing else to wear besides the muddied-up sweatsuit, I ran to the bathroom and dunked it in a sink of soapy water, wringing it out quickly and wincing as I slid my legs and arms into the cold outfit.

As I jogged out to the front lawn to join the squadron, I was immediately aware that I was the only cadet wearing a wet outfit. Had all the others actually taken the time after that run last night to launder their clothes? Being as it was only about 50-some degrees outside, I couldn't help but shiver violently as I made my way to the back of the rectangle of people, hearing them chuckle all the while.

I saw Callahan trying hard to stifle a smile, and I rolled my eyes. There was a black girl about my age standing next to me staring unabashedly at me out of the corner of her eye, though she was facing forward. She was about my height and had her hair braided very neatly. I felt a wave of jealousy. My hair literally looked like shit, all matted and uncombed from the night before, largely ignored in my scramble to clean my clothes.

"You _do _realize we are entitled to three sets of sweatsuits from the supply room…right?" she muttered.

"No," I said with a scoff. "It figures. I wish I'd been told."

"Aren't you rooming with anyone from this squadron? I'm sure they would've mentioned—"

"No, I'm not," I replied, cutting her off.

"You weren't here the first day, were you?"

"No."

"What's your name?" she asked out of the corner of her mouth, as the squadron fell silent.

"April—Carnegie," I added, now very aware of the fact that everyone called each other by their last names. I was almost embarrassed at its implications.

"Carnegie? Like the hall?" she muttered, obviously recognizing the name.

"Yeah," I replied, speaking freely though several people around me were signaling for me to shut up.

"Wow," she whispered back, abruptly ceasing to speak.

It was then that Captain Harris meandered his way through the stiffly standing cadets to where I was standing in my soaked and wrinkled sweatsuit looking like a drowned rat. His short height made him rather sneaky, for I hadn't even seen him coming. I should have realized what was going on when the whole squadron got quiet.

Right when he saw me his eyes widened and he looked aghast.

"Carnegie," he said, holding his baton under his arm, in his perfectly clean uniform, his hair presumably neat under his hat. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, strongly resisting the urge to roll my eyes. This was _his_ fault, damn it. If he'd told me about the number of spare outfits I was supposed to get from the supply room, I wouldn't have looked so stupid. At my reply, Harris's expression went from aghast to exasperated.

As I stood there dumbstruck, his expression became mischievous.

"Missing something, Carnegie?" he said, his face lingering closely to mine as he breathed on my face.

I looked down self-consciously and when I saw nothing obviously missing there, I looked around with the intention of discovering some morsel of information in my brain.

"Not _on_ you, you nitwit!" he growled. I was immediately confused.

"I'm sorry; I don't know what you're—"

"_Sir_!" the girl to my right loudly whispered. I instinctively turned my head, wondering why she had said that to me, who was clearly not a Sir. As I snapped my head back to face Captain Harris, I realized what she meant.

"Oh—" I began, feeling idiotic. "I mean—Sir."

For an instant I saw his expression change to one of smugness, but then he was irritated again.

"I asked you a question, Carnegie," he said with a slight drawl, an accent I hadn't caught before. With that, he unabashedly eyed me head to toe, removing his baton and planting his closed fists on his hips. "Is this some kind of joke?" he repeated.

"You mean, my wet clothes…Sir?" I added at the end, almost forgetting once again.

"Yeeesssssss," he said, raising his eyebrows as he leaned towards me, his voice sing-songy, patronizing.

"I only had the one uniform," I replied. "I washed it this morning but didn't get a chance to dry it."

"You are making a mockery of my squadron!" he bellowed, his face darkening. "Now see to it that you get yourself a clean uniform in the supply room and resume this position in five minutes!"

I hesitated for a moment, a bit shocked by all the yelling he was doing.

"You now have four minutes and forty seconds left!" he exclaimed, glancing at his watch. He looked back up at me, his teeth bared. I could feel his spit on my face as he yelled his next command. "Move it, dirtbag!"

I took off at a run, hearing chuckles and laughter from the squadron as I passed the three rows of cadets in front of my row. The laughter was short-lived, however, for Harris was yelling yet again.

"Shut it, you maggots!"

* * *

After I collected a fresh uniform from the supply room personnel, I simply took off each part of my sodden outfit barely out of eyeshot of the male personnel, not wanting to embarrass myself yet again by being late to rejoin the squadron. After I put on the unsoiled outfit, I tucked my filthy uniform behind the perpetually open door leading to the supply room, not having enough time to take it back to my room. I rejoined the squadron in no time. Harris made sure to acknowledge my return as I blushed uncontrollably. Would jail really be that much more awful than being constantly embarrassed and humiliated? At least in jail I wouldn't have to run all night in the rain and mud and be berated the next day for being uninformed about my clothing options.

"Now that Carnegie has decided to rejoin us, we can take a little trip to the gym," Harris informed us, twirling that despicable baton around with his right hand as it remained tucked under his left arm. We marched in a kind of formation to the gym, a tall building with hooks in the ceiling and blue mats all over the floor. The large old windows of the building were framed by the same blue curtains that decorated most other windows of this campus, and it was rather cold in the gym. I blamed it on the inadequate amount of radiators the place had coupled with the ridiculously high ceilings. At least I wasn't soaking wet anymore, but my hair was still damp.

As we entered the building, the cadet who had helped me out so greatly with Harris and the 'Sir' he expected touched my arm.

"I didn't get to introduce myself," she murmured. "I'm Mullers. Linda Mullers."

"Ah," I replied. "Thanks for giving me a heads-up on the _sir_ thing. I felt like such an ass."

"Don't worry about it," she said. "You should've seen him the first day. He personally humiliated at least a quarter of our squadron, as well as yours truly."

I glanced at her to see that she looked reminiscent, and felt a bit better. Even so, plenty of the squadron enjoyed laughing at me as I ran back to the supply room. I was relieved that I hadn't been there the first day; just one more day to be humiliated.

I soon learned several of the male squadron members' names by Callahan's calling them out as she pinned them on the floor mat. There was Wayne, a brooding yet well-built guy who I immediately nicknamed (in my head) Bruce Wayne. He was at least 6'1" and had a full head of dark hair that was revealed when Callahan knocked his hat off, hair which apparently hadn't suffered any ill effects from last night's rainy run. There was Fenster, a chubby blond guy with impossibly full lips and bad posture who clearly developed a hard-on in his wrestle with Captain Callahan. He also seemed to be quite the neat freak, easily being dispatched by Callahan in his constant efforts to tuck his shirt back in over his sizable gut.

In addition to the new faces, I recognized several of Norris' minions who now had names to their faces. There was Alberts, rather average-looking but whose mouth was open perpetually, exposing a dopey-looking overbite. He always made it a habit to smile whenever Norris made any kind of joke or quip and I found myself annoyed by his mere presence. Another one was Bordeaux, who'd roll his eyes every time someone would butcher his name—which was all the time. He was the most serious of Norris's stooges, and yet, a huge tattoo of Karen Carpenter holding a burger inked on his right forearm betrayed the level of maturity he wanted to portray. A third one was Beaner, who received all sorts of nicknames from Callahan and Harris both, including weiner, fartface and buttbreath, the latter two lovingly bestowed on him by Harris himself.

The entire squadron sat alongside the gym's big blue mat to watch Callahan dispatch guys much larger and heavier than herself, all the while we females watched with amusement. After the final guy sat down after being soundly beaten, Norris spoke up.

"The women—will they be wrestling Captain Callahan?" he said to no one in particular, his face full of hope and amusement. Predictably, several of his minions snickered in response. Of course the men would enjoy their lesbian fantasies being played out as a buxom blonde in a tight uniform pinned us pitiful lady cadets to the ground. I rolled my eyes at the stupidity of his comment and saw Mullers doing the same.

"No, dirtbag," Harris replied, his voice full of ire. "A gentleman of our choice will be pitted against the ladies."

Norris brightened, not minding that Harris was staring him down.

"Well, Sir, being as I _am_ squadron leader—"

Rather than continue to pay attention to Norris, Harris turned to the rest of the squadron.

"You—ginger," Harris growled, leering at the crowd seated before him. There was only one redhead in the group of forty or so. O'Malley looked uncomfortable but didn't stand up.

"That means you, O'Malley!" he exclaimed, thumbing the metal ball at the end of his baton. He had some kind of weird obsession with that thing, and I pictured myself breaking it over my knee as he was forced to watch, from a safe distance, of course.

O'Malley rose from his position on the floor as gracefully as a newborn calf, and staggered his way to the blue mat. I could hear that he was still panting from the earlier exertion on the mat with Captain Callahan.

"Alright, you maggots," Harris proclaimed, striding back and forth across the mat. I watched him approaching a bunched up portion of the mat and crossed my fingers. "Now, the first girl to take on Rusty here will be…" As he scanned the audience he neglected to look down for a moment, and ended up tripping on the uneven part of the mat, throwing his hands out as he hit the mat on all fours. I let out a burst of laughter as the rest of the class cracked up completely, laughing loudly as Harris, scowling, stood back up and collected his baton from where he had dropped it in his last-ditch attempt to catch himself. I glanced over at Captain Callahan, who was barely holding back her laughter yet not hiding her smile of amusement.

"That's enough," Harris growled, to no response. Over the continuous laughter he scanned our faces and finally settled on a person.

"Brookstone," he called out, and a petite, raven-haired woman several people down from me stood up confidently, adjusting her baseball cap as she stalked towards the mat. I noticed that she wore entirely too much makeup, her face slathered with foundation and blush and her eyes darkly outlined with clumpy black mascara. She didn't bother to acknowledge Harris and walked right past him, stopping beside O'Malley.

With a roll of his eyes, Harris turned away from the group to face O'Malley and Brookstone. As he did so, someone in the squadron made a farting sound. Affronted, Harris spun around at the sound, his eyes wide with surprise and rage.

"Who did that?" he shrieked, putting his hands on his hips.

"Probably Beaner," Norris said with a snicker. Most of the squadron laughed. Being as I had already decided I didn't like Norris, nothing he did struck me as funny, especially if it was done at the expense of another squadron member—Harris notwithstanding.

"Shut it, dirtbag," Harris growled menacingly. He scanned the entirety of the room, which struck me as odd, being as the whole squadron was localized in front of the mat. When he could see no sign of whatever or whoever it was he was looking for, he turned back around, scattered chuckles still heard throughout the squadron.

Once Captain Harris was quietly facing O'Malley and Brookstone, Captain Callahan began to instruct them in the act of defending themselves in hand-to-hand combat. Though she explained each step in agonizing detail, Brookstone's small bulk was able to knock O'Malley to the floor and pin him there between her thighs. Norris and his stupid group cheered at the sight.

As Callahan helped Brookstone off of O'Malley, Harris turned around, his expression one of disgust, and scanned the crowd again.

"Next, we'll have…." He scanned the crowd, his eyes moving about the group rapidly—and settling squarely on me, a sickening smile spreading across his lips. "…our very own mermaid. You—Carnegie!"

Of course he was referring to my earlier wet clothes incident, which I'd probably never live down. I let out a barely perceptible sigh and made my way to the mat. On my way I heard a male voice yell out "Madison!"

I wrinkled my brow as I turned my head to the side to identify whoever had said that, continuing to approach the mat. I didn't get it. Of course, in the process, I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking and I stumbled over the edge of the mat. Little did I realize where in particular I had stumbled. I heard a groan from Captain Harris as I turned my head to face front, arms impulsively splaying out in front of me as he failed to move out of the way in time and ended up underneath me as I fell on top of him in front of everybody. The entire squadron was now laughing at full blast. This was a riot for them. I, on the other hand, wanted very much to die.

My face was burning as I opened my eyes to find myself literally nose-to-nose with Captain Harris. I gave him a weak, albeit embarrassed smile and spread my legs so that I could stand up from a kneeling position, simultaneously stabilizing my upper body with a hand on the mat. Spreading my legs wasn't the smartest thing to do, but then again, utter humiliation had clouded my judgment. This automatic yet stupid way of trying to get my bearings alarmed the man beneath me and I could see his eyes widening, his jaw dropping and eyes gazing down towards where I now looked like I was getting ready to—well, it looked really bad.

Too embarrassed to utter a word, I used my hand to prop my upper body above his and quickly slid my body down his, my face coming way too close to his crotch area as I established a kneeling position midway down his thighs. Just as I thought, it was easier to rise from a kneeling position.

Less than half a minute after falling on top of Captain Harris—though it felt like an hour to me—I stood red-faced and ashamed beside O'Malley, who looked at the side of my face as if he couldn't decide if I'd intentionally done that to crack up the other cadets, or if I was really that ungraceful.

"Guess it doesn't take much to take down Captain Harris, does it?" I heard a female voice murmur, as my blush slowly began to fade.

Meanwhile, Captain Harris took an extra couple of seconds to collect himself and pull himself off of the floor. The end of his baton had struck the ground first and catapulted off somewhere on impact. He dusted off his uniform and with his eyes narrowed, he flashed me a look of guarded suspicion. I was surprised he wasn't completely outraged. If he was, he hid it well.

I think Captain Callahan suspected that I'd fell onto Captain Harris on purpose to embarrass him, and for a moment she almost looked proud of me. It was an odd situation, to see how many people liked the idea of humiliating Captain Harris. Well, he _was_ an asshole, so it wasn't a complete surprise—but for his coworkers to share the sentiment and to barely conceal that fact was odd.

Captain Callahan moved behind me, explaining out loud to the class and to me what I was to do and reiterated to O'Malley what he was supposed to do. Rather than us then proceeding with the tussle, however, Captain Harris cut in between the redheaded recruit and me, flashing me another suspicious glare.

"O'Malley, your last attempt was embarrassing, but that's not going to happen again, is it?" he said to the redhead across from me, his voice melodic.

"I don't know, Sir," O'Malley replied, a blush creeping on to his face. The cadets chuckled in remembrance of the petite Brookstone wiping the floor with him.

"Of course it won't happen again, dirtbag! And now I'm gonna tell you why!"

With that, Harris leaned in closely to O'Malley, whispering something in his ear. O'Malley looked simultaneously shocked and horrified at what was being said, his head shaking slowly, face paling as Captain Harris continued to speak. I watched them with fear, wondering what he could possibly be telling me to do. It was then that I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and Callahan was behind me, her mouth inches from my ear.

"Listen here, Carnegie," Captain Callahan whispered. "I think you really hit a nerve with Harris and so he's gonna try to get O'Malley to try some maneuvers on you—some advanced restraint maneuvers that most likely haven't been mentioned yet. Once you can see what he's trying to do, you can easily block his offensive moves. So here's how you recognize 'em…."

* * *

**A/N: Action scene! This story is a pretty long one, but I won't be able to get through all of it without a smidgen of feedback... :)**


	4. Revenge

CHAPTER 4: Revenge

* * *

After my impromptu pep talk simultaneously with O'Malley's pep talk, I saw that O'Malley was stark white and sweating profusely. Harris yelled for the 'match' to begin. Rather than approach me head-on, however, O'Malley began walking as if he was going to pass me by. He continued towards me, keeping a safe distance away as he came around to my side. I think Captain Callahan had mentioned this kind of move as a takedown and that if I should become wrapped in it, to 'step on his foot.'

O'Malley was making me uncomfortable, stalking me with the kind of expression—and coloration—that Casper the friendly ghost might have if asked to do the same thing. I began to turn to face him as he passed me—and he struck. Immediately I felt his forearm wrap around my waist, my elbows useless in nailing him in the stomach. He shoved a foot behind the heel of my foot as I turned, throwing me off balance. As I felt my balance being completely lost, I remembered what Captain Callahan had said. I lifted up my off-balance foot in front of his own, causing his foot to slip outwards to where mine had been. With that, I stomped down hard onto his instep, feeling an eerie crunchiness beneath my foot. He screamed like an infant and let go of me, and as I watched him stagger backwards, the 'battle' still continuing with no input from the two instructors, I shoved him backwards and he fell onto his rear end. At that I followed with a Callahan-like move and knelt down with my legs on either side of his chest, my arms holding his down. In my close inspection of his face I could see tears in his eyes.

"I'm sorry, O'Malley," I muttered.

He couldn't even speak, his teeth moving to bite his lip every couple of seconds when it looked like he could begin crying. I felt really horrible that it had come to this. I wish it had been Captain Harris getting his foot stomped on. Maybe O'Malley would try to exact revenge on the prick, because it really was Harris's fault that the tussle had come down to this.

"Next?" Callahan said to Harris, looking pretty satisfied with herself.

After I got up off O'Malley, Harris strode angrily over to the recruit, standing directly above O'Malley's face, hands on his hips.

"You cryin', boy?"

His gruff cowboy-like accent was especially obvious as he asked that question of O'Malley. O'Malley, on the other hand, could only shake with silent sobs, tears streaming down his face. The pain must've been intense.

"Get up, O'Malley," he instructed. "Get yourself down to the infirmary. If I were you I wouldn't bother coming back. You just got beat by a girl."

The recruit on the ground gathered enough strength to speak.

"I…I was t-taught never to hit—"

"You're here to be a _cop_, O'Malley. You gotta do your job whether the suspect is male or female. This just proves that you don't belong here, dirtbag."

* * *

I was utterly pissed. Not only did I get a cadet kicked out of the school, but all Harris could do was sneer as O'Malley retreated from the gym with a pronounced limp. No wonder I was unemployed. If having a boss was anything like tolerating Captain Harris all day, I wouldn't mind collecting welfare and sitting on my ass.

I sat down next to Mullers and she gave me a look as if she was impressed by what I'd done. Thank God for Captain Callahan saving me like she did.

Batman (AKA Bruce Wayne AKA Wayne) was called up as the next male to take on the lady cadets. Harris no longer involved himself in explaining technique and walked around the room with a grumpy expression in search for his baton. Callahan explained to Wayne the next move and Mullers was called up as the next female cadet.

Though she was tough and put up a good fight resisting him, he easily twisted her arm behind her back and brought her to her knees with a squeal.

The morning continued with these tussles and then it was time for breakfast, which was at 9:00 am. I hadn't realized that I'd actually managed to get up well before 8 am. I still hoped that it'd be quietly decided that I didn't belong there and I could leave as a result. I hadn't even bothered to call my parents and tell them what I was doing. Even so, they were accustomed to talking to me on the phone every other day, and since I spoke to them yesterday, they wouldn't start worrying until tomorrow. Of course, if they drove down to the station to bail me out they would find that I wasn't there. I didn't care. They had no way of contacting me to tell me how foolhardy I was to join such an academy, and that was good enough for now.

As the squadron began to stand up and make their way for the cafeteria, I heard Harris speak from somewhere behind me.

"Carnegie, you stay. The rest of you dirtbags get to the mess hall."

I rolled my eyes, my shoulders involuntarily slumping at the request, keeping my back turned to him all the while. So he was going to scream at me over the honest mistake. How dare he vilify me for falling on him, when only minutes before, he alone lost his balance and fell on the mat! And for him to take out his anger on that poor redheaded guy…. He was truly a prick.

I turned around, feeling livid yet realizing I couldn't display that at the moment. I'd vent to Mullers later. She'd become a kind of friend in the earlier rescue from Harris's questioning.

"Yes, Captain Harris?" I asked him, noticing that that godforsaken baton was stuffed up under his arm again and that he looked positively snobby.

"I'm on to you, Carnegie," he growled, walking towards me with purpose, his shoulders up near his ears as he approached. He pointed at me aggressively. "Don't you screw with me. You won't get away with it."

"Are you talking about my fall?" I asked. "That was an accident. I wasn't paying attention."

"Riiiight," he replied, his voice throaty and deep. "I suppose your method of getting up was _also_ an accident then."

"I-I don't know what you mean," I said with a stutter.

"That hooker move of yours," he muttered, looking exasperated.

I couldn't believe my ears. Was he accusing me of being some kind of whore?? I did not take criticism well—now, when it was _founded_ criticism, it made me depressed; when it was false criticism, it made me angry. And this accusation just so happened to enrage me.

"If you try another stunt," he explained, "I'm going to plan a nice relaxing evening for you dangling off the pull-up bar."

"But Sir, I was trying to get up!" I said with a renewed feistiness. It enraged me that he refused to believe me. Why was he so damn paranoid?

"Riiight," was the curt, sarcastic reply. "I know your type, Carnegie." My vision was shaking. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins and took a deep breath.

"Are you calling me a hooker?!" I exclaimed, exasperated. "How do _you_ know what they do?"

His face noticeably darkened, eyes narrowing on me threateningly.

"You watch it," he growled. "If I were you, I wouldn't say another word, Carnegie—"

"Well, you clearly know more about them than I do!"

"That's _it_!" he yelled, his face darkening several shades as spittle flew out of his mouth. I suddenly wished I'd kept my mouth shut. I had a tendency to explode in angry outbursts, and his constant nagging and mocking this entire day had pushed me over the limit. He continued to speak, touching the end of his baton for emphasis. "You and me have a date for tonight. Here—10 pm sharp. Leave the wet clothes at home, unless you want to weigh an extra five pounds."

* * *

I trudged off to the cafeteria feeling really shitty. I couldn't help but slump as I walked, cursing myself for letting myself explode on him—though he very much deserved it. As I entered the cafeteria, I saw that the women's tables were completely and utterly packed, as well as the men's tables. Mullers was nowhere in sight. The only table open was near the buffet line, completely unoccupied at the moment. But wasn't this the officers' table? I scanned the room and saw Callahan sitting at the end of the mens' table explaining something to the men there, her sunglasses hiding her expression as she spoke.

After I collected the soggy remnants of a double pancake stack as well as some cold scrambled eggs, a piece of toast and a sausage patty, I sat down at the little four-person table in the front. I didn't feel like sitting for very long and so began gobbling down the food so maybe I could spare a 20-minute nap back in my room. Gertrude is a _great_ roommate, I thought sarcastically. If she was able to see me with her gargantuan height—which was extremely likely—why hadn't she called me over to her table?

I kept my head down, feeling sorry for myself. What did Captain Harris have planned for me? Was he seriously going to make me hang off of the pull-up bar? I almost wished that a gang of criminals would break into this place and take Harris as their hostage as they escaped. I could almost picture it….

_Harris would be standing there, completely unaware of his surroundings as he fiddled with that stupid baton of his, and there'd be a clicking of rifles behind him: big scary killing machines aimed at his head. His eyes would widen and he'd throw his hands in the air as he turned to face his kidnappers, his baton clattering away from him and getting smashed under the foot of a particularly burly henchman. _

_The ringleader of the gang would step forward and thrust his rifle against Harris's nose, making Harris flinch as he spoke. "I'm a fortuneteller," he'd say. _

"_Oh?" Harris would reply, seeming disinterested but probably pissing his pants in fear. _

"_Yes, I can tell you your future. There is a dilemma, however: it's up to you as to whether you die or not." _

I smiled as I pictured that special moment when Harris would then fall to his hands and knees at the man's feet and beg for mercy.

"What are you doing sitting here, Carnegie?" a gruff voice asked, the table moving from the tray being placed on it as I was torn from my good thoughts.

"There aren't any seats left," I replied, not bothering to look up. I knew who it was. I sighed, realizing I'd be the one leaving the cafeteria today, just as Harris had yesterday. I was only about halfway finished but was preparing to stand up in 3…2…

I pushed the chair out so that I could get up but it appeared to be stuck. I looked down at the chair leg, and saw Harris's leg there. My face scrunched up in confusion as I stared at him, remaining frozen in place.

"May I leave?" I asked, hissing through my teeth.

"Like you said, there aren't any seats left," he muttered, biting into his sausage patty. "Guess this is your only choice."

"I was just about to leave," I muttered.

He glanced up at my tray, chewing his food thoughtfully.

"You're only halfway done."

I stifled a sigh, using my fork to push my scrambled eggs around my plate.

"I'm not hungry."

"Cadets aren't allowed to leave the mess hall during mealtime," he stated matter-of-factly. "So you're stuck. Maybe next time you'll think before you sit at the officers' table."


	5. A Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Chapter 5: A Light At The End Of The Tunnel

* * *

Harris concentrated on his food, staying silent as he and I sat at the otherwise empty officers' table. I rolled my eyes and pulled my chair back in and after a couple of moments of deep thought of how I hoped he'd start choking, I began to eat again—but much more slowly this time. All the while I hoped Mullers would walk by and yank me out of the chair to bring me to her table. Harris was _punishing_ me for sitting at the table _he_ hadn't even been allowed to sit at yesterday!

Thankfully Harris remained silent as he finished his food. I saw the tall black male instructor, his last name "Hightower," and a petite black female officer, "Hooks," instinctively head for our table and then take a fast detour just before reaching the back of Harris, who was hunched over his food, his baton lying across his lap. I watched them crunch onto the end of the nearest men's table. Harris didn't even acknowledge the fact that two of his fellow instructors had deliberately avoided sitting with him. He continued to eat, his face expressionless.

As he kept his eyes on the task at hand, I again pushed my chair back and his leg made no move to stop me. I stood up, watching Harris warily all the while. He didn't even look up. I stepped away from the table, collecting my napkin and silverware on my tray when I heard him sigh.

"Don't you even think about leaving the mess hall, Carnegie," he drawled, his voice tired and gravelly. "The squadron lines up out front in…" –he checked his watch, glancing up at me briefly afterwards— "…seven minutes."

"Just enough time for a bathroom break," I mumbled in reply, and with that I turned away from him and hightailed it to the restroom.

* * *

I spent the next six minutes and twenty seconds lingering in the bathroom, though I felt a bit strange doing so. Cadets would come in the door only to quickly finish their business and leave. Others would stop by the mirror, fixing their hair or pulling lipstick and mascara out of nowhere as they reapplied their makeup. Though the condition of my tangled and unruly clump of hair embarrassed me greatly, I didn't care that I was bare-faced. If I allowed myself to work up a sweat with makeup on, the resulting barrage of zits and blackheads the next day would overwhelm any kind of positive effect my makeup had had the day before.

As I made my way out to the squadron, I noticed O'Malley hadn't returned. Perhaps he was actually gone for good. I felt horrible that it was essentially my fault that Harris had convinced him to quit. Why hadn't I just allowed O'Malley to take me down to the floor and pin me? It wasn't like I would have been harmed in any way. Instead I had to be stubborn and take out my frustrations on a guy who didn't deserve it. Had it been Harris facing off against me, I might have *accidentally* kicked him in the balls. But no matter. He and I would be alone tonight in the gym for him to ask whatever he was going to ask of me, whether it be breaking my arms on the pull-up bars or doing dozens of push-ups at his feet.

"Listen up, maggots!" I heard Harris yell as he paced back and forth in front of the assembling group. I scrambled to my position, largely hidden by the group of people that were still taking their spots. He held a megaphone to his mouth for his next command. "OOO-ILL-ALL-EE-UNNIN-IN-AH-OB-STICKLE-ORSE."

No one responded to his command, instead exchanging lost looks. He looked disturbed by the lack of reaction and sneered, moving the megaphone towards his mouth again.

"What did you say?!" several people finally exclaimed.

"Is the megaphone not loud enough for you dirtbags?!" he replied gruffly.

"It just sounds like a series of vowel sounds," Fenster uttered, looking embarrassed at the admission. Several cadets around him nodded their heads solemnly, not daring to look directly at Captain Harris.

Harris only glanced at Fenster for a second, and then moved to a spot several yards in front of the group, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Is this true?" he bellowed, using the full capacity of his gravelly voice.

"Yes sir!" the group exclaimed mostly in unison. I kept my mouth shut. I'd already said enough, and my whole night was going to be ruined because of it.

* * *

We spend the next couple of hours until lunch struggling through the obstacle course. Fenster fell on the tire part and almost got run over by Norris. Seriously, though; would there ever be an instance where a cop or a military person has to run through a series of rimless tires? I know the purpose of the course was to move quickly and accurately, but the tires were truly a _tire_d cliché…

Most of Norris's group was able to scan the wall erected on the course, but we women were generally pretty pitiful at that. I made sure no one was looking and took a quick detour around it. There was a part in which we had to balance on a rope and inch along it by holding onto a rope above our heads. I was successful at this part and saw Captain Callahan smiling at me from behind her sunglasses. Yet another part involved a zip line flying high over the horizon where the lake was fully visible. It really was a beautiful campus.

The sun was rising to its highest and burning down on us as we attempted the various obstacles on the course. I could see some of the heavier members of our squadron sweating profusely. I found myself craving lunch—and early entrance to the cafeteria. I'd never make the mistake of sitting at the officers' table again.

At the end of our obstacle course segment, Harris had us all line up on the front lawn in our usual formation, and instructed us on what we'd be doing after lunch.

"We will be reconvening in room 21 at precisely 1330 hours," he explained. "You have thirty minutes to get your showers after lunch. Bring a pencil or pen and something to write on. _I_ will be your instructor."

This time when we headed to the cafeteria, I made sure to stay close to Mullers and we sat at a yet-uncrowded table with other female cadets.

"So your name is Carnegie?" a blonde cadet asked. "Like the museum?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I'm Stiner. Wait a second—I didn't see you in the mess hall for breakfast."

"That's because I was late. Harris held me back," I explained.

"What'd he say?"

"He accused me of intentionally falling on top of him."

A cadet sitting on the other side of Stiner spoke up.

"You mean, you didn't do that on purpose? I thought that was hilarious."

Though it _was_ solidly established in Harris's mind that it was indeed done on purpose, I wasn't a very good liar. Besides, if word got around that I was bragging about barreling over him, he'd certainly get wind of it.

"No," I replied. "I tripped while looking behind me, because someone yelled out a name and I didn't know what they were talking about."

"Oh, you mean Madison?" Stiner offered.

"Yeah," I said. "I don't get it."

"It's from the movie _Splash_," she explained. "The mermaid—Daryl Hannah—names herself that. Harris called you a mermaid, so that's the connection. It's yelled quite a few times in the movie by the boyfriend—Tom Hanks. It came out in '84. Are you telling me you've never seen that movie?"

I thought back to those years. I was in my early twenties then, and I had most certainly seen it. The main thing I remembered about that movie was the part of the scientist, a bushy-browed Eugene Levy. Oddly enough, he had been a celebrity crush of mine all through the '80s. In his 1986 movie with John Candy, _Armed And Dangerous_, he looked delectable. Of course, I was probably the only one who crushed on Eugene Levy over Tom Hanks, but no matter. I had odd taste in men.

Mullers spoke up, erasing the picture of Eugene Levy from my mind.

"So what did he say after you told him it was an accident?"

"Well," I began haltingly, "he of course refused to believe it. He then mentioned my manner of getting off of him, and I—well, I guess I kind of insulted him then. I have to meet with him in the gym tonight as a kind of punishment."

"What's the punishment? Spending extra time with him?"

There was a smattering of laughter. It was enough to learn one's lesson; that was for sure.

Mullers took a sneaky glance around and then murmured low, her head close to the table.

"Frankly, I think he's nuts. He's on some kind of a weird ego trip. You should have seen how he treated the Commandant of the academy the first day. He's so disrespectful to his superiors, and yet he demands a ridiculous amount of respect."

"So he has a boss?" I replied, very interested in this situation. I certainly hadn't seen any distinguished older individuals walking around here and was curious.

"Yeah, Commandant Lassard. A jovial old guy. The nicest guy, really. Just a little senile," she replied with a chuckle.

"Will he be coming around again? I've never been a big fan of bosses, and well, Captain Harris _really_ makes me hate them."

"I think he's talking on Friday before we have our first weekend off," she explained. I stopped breathing for a moment. Did she say weekend _off?_

"Wait—say that again…. We have a break?"

"Yeah, we get weekends off. There's supposed to be a huge party outside of the city on the game lands this first weekend. They're bringing a shitload of kegs."

"Really," I deadpanned, taken aback by this new knowledge.

"It's Friday night starting at 9. According to the older instructors who attended this academy in the past, they usually let the cadets go around 5 pm that day so we all have plenty of time to prepare before it starts. You game?"

"That sounds great!" I exclaimed, recalling the abandoned field that apparently classified as 'game lands,' about a twenty minute walk from my apartment. "I'm so glad I don't have to be stuck here for 14 straight weeks. That's awesome news!"

"You don't think we would have gone out for this if we were stuck here 24/7; do you?" Mullers replied with a knowing smile. Life had just gotten much better.

* * *

I ate with a renewed sense of happiness, glad that my transgression against Harris had happened today and not tomorrow. I would be free on the weekends, free to collect unemployment and check on my apartment! And most importantly, I'd be free to party like I'd never done before. Though I'd dropped out of college, I hadn't done it on account of excess partying. That would have been a far more worthwhile reason to drop out. I'd done it on account of that asshole dumping—

"So you're rich?" the cadet next to Stiner blurted. "I'd watch myself if I were you—people trying to take advantage of you."

"I'm definitely not rich," I replied. "I'm unemployed and I'm so far down the Carnegie line, it won't make a difference as far as inheritance goes. And as far as people trying to take advantage of me, well, that definitely hasn't happened yet."

"At least your name's associated with something good. My name's Manson—Connie Manson," the cadet said, distaste in her tone.

"_That_ Manson?" Mullers cut in, gaping at her.

"Yeah," she explained, her face turning red. "I don't know why in God's name my father didn't have his last name changed. They can do that, you know."

"Oh," I replied, not knowing how to respond to the fact that she was descended from a man who was able to actually instruct his followers to kill viciously and without mercy, while not lifting a finger himself.

"I can't wait to get married," she said. "Then my last name will automatically change. I won't have to fill out any weird courthouse documents and explain my case."

Mullers wouldn't let it sit, and spoke up.

"So you're actually related to—"

Manson nodded solemnly.

"Harris made a big joke of it the first day," she explained. "Now everyone knows I actually have familial connections to that monster."

"Man, he doesn't stop bringing people down, does he?" I asked. He really seemed to be quite the irredeemable bastard, with everyone I'd spoken to confirming that fact.

"I think he's too damn paranoid," Stiner cut in. "He just needs to get laid and he'll be fine."

We all had a good laugh at that thought, which then brought me to thinking about his 'hooker move' comment. I wasn't about to share that with the group. It was embarrassing to even think about, because then there'd be the inevitable question: _you aren't a hooker though, are you_? And the inevitable answer: _no, because if I was, I'd have enough money to avoid resorting to stealing a _Corsica_, of all things!_

* * *

_A/N: BTW, the action begins to heat up in the next chapter!!_


	6. Lost In Translation

We had plenty of time to get showers and make our way to the classroom, a small, radiator-heated room with a giant, wall-sized chalkboard in the front. I wasn't going to like this, namely because I hated the squeak of chalk on a chalkboard. This was going to be torturous, but I had to hide it, lest Harris alter tonight's disciplinary proceedings to include the chalkboard.

At precisely 1:30 pm, Harris entered the room, his baton neatly tucked under an arm. He laid it down on the plain wooden desk that sat at the front of the room and proceeded to pick up a piece of chalk.

Animatedly he began writing words on the board as he talked in his gravelly drawl.

"Now, this course will teach you proper police procedure—arrest warrants, Miranda warnings, arrest reports. We'll also talk about how to tack on extra crimes to a suspect's rap sheet—such as, say resisting arrest. We will also learn how to command others with our voices. A police officer needs to have control over his subjects at all times. This class probably won't have much of an issue with this part of training; none of you seem unusually shy—and some of you are less shy than others."

With that he briefly flashed me a knowing look. Evidently he was referring to my 'hooker move' on him. I wanted to punch him so badly that my eyesight shook.

After that little potshot, Harris turned around to begin the lesson. As he spoke he wrote in large flamboyant letters, his handwriting grotesquely sloppy. Rather than spell large words, he'd abbreviate them in nonsensical ways. Basically, it was like college all over again. I cringed as he wrote, though the chalk seemed to be a bit old and so wasn't quite as squeaky as I'd guessed it would be.

Meanwhile, Norris chatted with Bordeaux at the back of the room, completely ignoring all that Harris was saying. Admittedly, though I'd taken a refreshing shower and my hair looked decent again, I was in the process of actively fighting off sleep. I could feel my eyes begin to cross up into my head, my eyelids threatening to close one at a time. Several times my body fell into micro-sleep and I snapped myself out of it, holding it off for five-minute periods of time where I'd forcefully swing my crossed leg under my desk.

"I'm talking to _you_, maggot; what's the third line of the Miranda warning?" I suddenly heard, and though my head was facing forward and my eyes were presumably open, I flinched at the very close by sound. I hadn't heard a thing before this moment, and so I realized I had lost the fight to stay awake.

Harris was standing beside my desk, aiming his question Norris's way. I ensured that Norris was his intended target by turning my head ever so casually. I heard a quiet little chuckle from above me.

"Don't try to hide it, Carnegie."

Rather than question him in front of all these people, I refrained from looking up at him or responding to his accusation. It didn't matter anyway. If he felt the need to punish me for my indiscretions, there was always the gym later on.

"I'm waiting, Norris," he said in a singsong voice, continuing to walk past me.

"I—I don't know, Captain Harris."

"You have the right to an attorney, dirtbag!" he bellowed at him.

"For what?" Norris replied, obviously confused. "Are we gonna face off in court about this?"

Norris's stooges Bordeaux and Alberts began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Harris marched his way to the back of the room.

_I_ even knew that line…. Hell, I'd had to hear that three times now for my three arrests.

"You think you're some sort of comedian, boy?" Harris growled, his expression surly.

"Oh, of course not, Captain Harris," Norris replied, sitting up straight in his chair like a soldier. I got the impression that he was mocking Harris.

"You know," Harris said, planting his hands on Norris's desk and leaning towards him, "Years ago, I had a wise-ass just like you on my squadron. I know how to handle wise-asses," he added, jamming his finger down on the desk for emphasis.

To use a tired phrase, Norris was the kind of guy who was all talk and no action. He shut his mouth abruptly and said no more. When Harris left Norris's desk, he looked smug.

"Now Wayne," Harris announced, moving away from Norris's desk with renewed arrogance, "Can _you_ tell me the Miranda warning?"

I turned my head to watch as Wayne hesitated. Surely this strong-but-silent type had been fantasizing about the life of a cop for years. Surely he'd know this….

"No," he stated.

"That all you have to say for yourself?" Harris retorted, hands on hips. His patience was clearly wearing thin at this point.

"Yes," Wayne replied, looking especially brooding.

"I just _said_ the third line, numbnuts, so you can state that part at least."

"You mean, about attorney?"

It was the first time I'd heard Wayne speak. His voice was nothing like Michael Keaton's Batman. It was deep and quiet and yet had a distinctive accent, and he'd skipped using 'a' or 'the' in front of attorney. What _was_ that accent, exactly? I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Yes, Wayne, about attorney," Harris shot back, doing his best attempt to mimic the man's unusual accent.

Wayne seemed to consider before speaking. I wrinkled my brow. Was he a half-wit or something? Why was he taking so long to say a simple thing?

"You have right to attorney," he stated, after a couple more seconds.

"Is that stupid accent supposed to be intimidating, being as the rest of the Miranda warning somehow escaped your memory?" Harris interrupted. His southern drawl was even more apparent now than before, being as he spoke immediately following the foreign accented guy. He stared the guy down as he waited for him to reply. Rather than simply call on someone else, Harris was somehow insistent on making this guy spill his guts.

"I not… understand," the man muttered.

"Are you mocking me, boy?" Harris growled, getting up in the guy's face. Wayne remained relatively serene, though I could see that the excess attention was beginning to get to him. He looked taken aback but stayed silent.

"I asked you a question, dirtbag!"

"No," Wayne replied.

"Then why are you speaking English like a damned Ruskie?"

I saw an expression of shock on Wayne's face that vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

As Harris continued to stare down Wayne, something occurred to him. I watched as his eyes narrowed, as he scanned the room suspiciously. When he leaned back towards Wayne, there was a smirk of pride on his face.

"Tell me, Wayne—if that's even your real name—did you bring any… _comrades_ with you?" This question seemed to amuse Harris, who now smiled triumphantly.

"No," Wayne replied, now seeming more irritated than anything else.

"Did Konali send you to spy on me? Is that it?" Harris growled, leaning towards the dark-haired cadet. "Is he trying to get his revenge on me for arresting him? Well, it ain't gonna happen."

Wayne looked puzzled by Harris's words but didn't reply. Instead he shook his head, looking up at Harris with eyebrows raised as if attempting to quiet a child who had just began telling his grandmother about mommy and daddy's not-so-great opinion of her wig. After several silent seconds had passed, Harris took a step away from Wayne's desk, clasping his hands behind his back in preparation to announce something or other.

"I don't care who sent you; you get your ass out of my classroom—no, better yet, get your ass out of this academy! You're finished, Ruskie!"

I was appalled at Captain Harris's erratic behavior. Did he have a prejudice against Russians? What was his reasoning for throwing the guy out? And who was this Konali guy?

Wayne scoffed as he stood up from his desk, dwarfing Captain Harris in height. He loomed over Harris, casting a threatening shadow over Harris all the while, and I crossed my fingers for one good punch thrown in Harris's face. The tension hung thick in the air as they faced off, both silent as they stared each other down.

"Do you know who I am?" Wayne finally stated, now openly pissed off.

"No, and I don't give a damn either way!" he yelled, the volume and pitch of his voice steadily rising. "Get outta here or I'll have you arrested!"

Wayne stood there for another moment glaring down at Harris, and I could almost swear I saw Harris cringe a little.

"What for?" Wayne asked. "I was invi—"

"Do you not understand English? _Out_ski! Move it! Move it! Move it!"

Shaking his head all the while, Wayne stepped around Harris and strode out of the room.

* * *

As soon as the door shut behind Wayne, or whatever his name was, Harris turned to the class and was met with about thirty pairs of curious eyes. For a moment his look of triumph flashed uncertainty, but then his ego was restored to its normal level. Walking with purpose, hands still clasped behind his back, he went to the front of the room.

"I don't have to explain myself to you dirtbags."

"You don't have to," Fenster mumbled under his breath, though his voice was amplified in the silent room.

"Shut it, fatso," Harris retorted. Of course he couldn't pass up a brilliant story when given the chance. He stood there for a few seconds more, as if considering.

"Fine—you win," he said, rolling his eyes even though no one had said a word. "Due to my well-known expertise in this country, a year ago I was invited to Moscow, Russia to bring down Konstantine Konali, the head of the Russian Mafia. It wasn't long before I tracked him down and arrested him. It's clear that's he's sent a henchman to spy on me and exact revenge on me for putting him away for good. You always have to be on your toes in this business."

I sat back in my chair, considering. Was it true that Captain Harris was a hero in Russia? Even so, Wayne hadn't really seemed very threatening; he almost seemed _affronted_ that Captain Harris was kicking him out. Was this the way a secret Russian Mafia spy would act? I had no idea.

After his little spiel, it seemed like Captain Harris was satisfied with what had occurred. Wayne had not denied being Russian, and I had even caught the shock in Wayne's eyes when Harris had first pointed it out. Had Harris actually been correct to assume Wayne was Russian?

The next hour or so went by without a hitch. The excitement with Wayne had made Harris completely oblivious to my occasional micro-sleep episodes; instead he spent his time writing incomprehensible things on the board while he spoke of police procedures.

* * *

To my relief, I was able to find a seat with the other female recruits at dinner. We chatted mindlessly about the day's activities until it came to the subject of our squadron's bit of excitement in the classroom.

"What are you talking about?" I heard someone ask, as it was mentioned that Harris had kicked a male recruit out of the academy. I looked down the row of tables making up our huge single table to see that the asker was my roommate Gertrude. She gave me a nod of recognition, but said nothing more directly to me.

Mullers was the one to answer her.

"Our class instructor Captain Harris asked Wayne to recite the Miranda warning. Well, when he finally did recall a line, he said it with a funny accent. Harris accused him of being Russian and basically kicked him out when the guy didn't deny it. I dunno though; if it's true Wayne was some kind of spy, why didn't he try something before—"

"Why would there be a Russian spy in the police academy classroom?" I heard Gertrude ask. "It's not like you can't learn all that stuff in a textbook. Nothing top secret there."

"Apparently Captain Harris is some kind of hero in Russia," Stiner explained. "He arrested some mafia guy over there. He thinks everyone is out to get him—maybe he's right this once."

I wasn't so sure about the mafia link, and voiced my concerns.

"It sounded to me like Wayne was trying to tell Captain Harris that—"

"Oh my—there's Wayne now," Mullers said, pointing at a man entering the cafeteria.

I craned my neck to see. It certainly was Wayne entering the cafeteria. It didn't make sense. Several hours had passed since the incident. If he was indeed a spy, why was he still here?

I glanced towards the buffet lines and saw Captain Harris sitting at the officers' table by himself, his back to Wayne, completely unaware that the dark-haired Russian was steadily approaching him….

* * *

**A/N: So the action starts to pick up a bit! Opinions? Comments? **


	7. Face Off

Was I going to watch Captain Harris get shot in the middle of the mess hall? Sure, the man was a total prick, but I didn't think he deserved to die because of it.

It was then I noticed that Wayne was not alone. Walking alongside Wayne was an older distinguished gentleman with a head of blondish-white hair under his hat and a fancy uniform with three yellow stripes on the arms.

"Who's that?" I found myself asking.

"That's Commandant Lassard," Mullers replied. "He's the head of the academy. Didn't you—Oh, that's right; you got here late."

Stiner, Manson, and Mullers began chuckling.

"Well, this can only mean one thing," Mullers said, her voice shaking with laughter. "Harris was dead wrong about Wayne."

As Wayne and Commandant Lassard approached Harris, all who were aware of the impending confrontation fell silent. Our squadron of thirty had evidently told the others the "Russian spy" story, because it seemed as if everyone was aware that this would be no ordinary conversation. In a few seconds, the entire mess hall was so quiet one could hear a pin drop—and yet the only thing that was heard was the sound of two men's footsteps approaching the officers' table.

It took a couple of moments, but Harris was soon aware of the sudden silence of the room. I watched as he scanned the cafeteria suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. And then he saw Wayne—with Commandant Lassard.

As Lassard arrived at Harris's table, Captain Harris hesitated to stand up, but at Lassard's expectant stance in front of him, he begrudgingly made his way to his feet and half-heartedly saluted his superior. All eyes were on him. I saw a flicker of fear in his eyes as he looked around the room, giving me a weird twinge deep in my stomach.

"Captain Harris," Lassard began, his voice surprisingly strong as Harris promptly lowered his salute. "I was very, very disturbed to hear that Cadet Wayne—" at that he turned and winked at Wayne—"was ejected from your class."

"I don't understand, Sir," Harris cut in, looking demure. He now kept his hands clasped in front of him. I imagined a pair of handcuffs being slapped on those wrists, and couldn't help but smile.

Lassard took a bewildered look about the room, noticing that everyone was staring unabashedly at the standoff. Clearing his throat, he looked back at the shorter man in front of him.

"Were you not informed, Captain Harris? Cadet Wayne is a _special_ recruit of ours."

Lassard's voice was pleasant, deep, and very regal-sounding. Even while admonishing Captain Harris, he kept a kind disposition and spoke like a decorated General might when addressing his troops in peacetime.

"Of _course_ he is!" Harris shot back, eyes full of ire. "He's a damn Ruskie and probably a member of their mafia!" Lassard looked mortified at the statement. Harris paused after seeing Lassard's face. When he spoke again, his voice was loud and accusatory, his face exaggeratingly aghast. "Are you working for the Russians, Commandant Lassard?"

There were gasps heard all around the room. I could not believe my ears. How could this sweet old man be the bad guy in all of this? And if Lassard was being falsely accused, why did he not immediately say something, or at the least, simply dismiss Harris from the academy? The Commandant just stared at Harris, his mouth shut but eyes wide. He was flabbergasted by Harris's accusation, closing his eyes as he considered his next words. When Lassard opened his eyes again, Harris looked positively arrogant. Lassard cleared his throat and then spoke in a calm voice.

"You see, Captain Harris, Cadet Wayne is the son of Commandant Rakov. You remember him, don't you? He sent for us to help arrest Konali. Boris here was so very, very impressed with the skills and expertise of the academy that he wanted to attend it for himself. I invited him here."

Murmurings passed through the mess hall at the information. I saw Harris's eyebrows shoot up as his jaw dropped.

"If that's true, why did he go by an alias?" Harris asked, his voice sounding a bit choked. It was clear that he was losing this argument, and I couldn't help but smile.

"Though Konali has been apprehended, the Russian mafia is still very, very active and if it was made known that Boris was attending the academy, their American cohorts might've kidnapped him and held him for ransom for many, many rubles. The name change was for his own protection."

"I see," Harris replied with a grunt, thoughtfully stroking his chin. He held the elbow of that hand up with his other arm slung across his waist, which made his shoulders round off. He looked very much defeated, though he'd never admit it to anyone—or to himself.

Even though he looked defeated, Harris wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Why didn't you tell me about him?" he asked, looking annoyed.

"You remember what happened _last_ time privileged information was shared," Lassard said matter-of-factly, putting his hand to the side of his mouth, palm outwards, as if being secretive—though his booming voice didn't help. I couldn't help but be intrigued…. What was he talking about?

"How was I supposed to know that the—" Harris began in a higher-pitched, whiny voice, but was interrupted by a hyena-like laugh from the sea of cadets. He immediately shut his mouth and glared at his impromptu audience with narrowed eyes, scanning our faces for the source of the male-sounding laugh, which abruptly stopped. It was an odd time for someone to laugh, but that implied that someone in the audience of cadets knew what had happened 'last time.'

"Now that Mr. Rakov's identity has been revealed," Lassard said, not acknowledging the laugh, "he will have to return to Russia."

"He doesn't have to do that—" Harris cut in, but was silenced with a hand from his superior officer. I watched as Wayne touched Lassard on his arm, which seemed to remind the commandant to say something.

"However, he would like something before he goes," Lassard added after a moment.

Harris looked up at Lassard quizzically, but didn't lay eyes on Wayne—err, Boris Rakov.

"What's that," Harris muttered, his jaw set in a grimace.

"He would like you to apologize to him. He said he was very, very embarrassed by you in the classroom."

"What!?" Harris blurted, his eyes as wide as saucers. A moment passed in which nothing changed.

"Can we do this somewhere else?" Harris then asked quietly through gritted teeth, not daring to look over at the cadets staring at him from almost every angle.

Lassard remained in place.

"He said in order to fully patch up the misunderstanding with him and his father, he wanted it to be done in public. It would be much, much more sincere that way."

I could see a reddening of Harris's neck which quickly spread to his jaw then his cheeks. Was that _shame_ I saw on his face? After nearly a minute of silence, Harris turned to Wayne, bitterness in his gravelly voice.

"You should have told me that you were invited—"

"I tried. You not let me finish…."

The room fell completely silent again as Harris dropped his head, clenching and unclenching his jaw. The lighting of the cafeteria cast shadows across the contours of his face, making everyone instantaneously aware of small changes in his facial expressions.

Suddenly Commandant Lassard spoke.

"Please, just get this over with, Captain Harris. I have to feed Birdie."

_Who's Birdie?_, I mouthed to Mullers.

She only shrugged. Good. So I wasn't as out of the loop as I thought. I focused my attention back on the unfolding scene.

Captain Harris took a deep breath, his face now crimson. I could see the sheen of sweat over the entirety of his face as he stood before the two taller men, seeming to shrink in size with every moment.

"I apologize for the misunderstanding," he mumbled, eyes focused on the ground all the while.

"Much, much better!" Lassard boomed, a smile emerging on his face as he clapped his hands together with delight. "Thank you, Captain Harris."

"No."

Boris Rakov had spoken.

"No, _what_?" Captain Harris replied, his voice full of irritation.

"I can tell it not sincere," he said, glancing over at Lassard and then again at Harris. "You not look at me."

"What are you talkin' about?!" Harris exclaimed in his southern drawl, his eyes widening with incredulity. About a dozen cadets snickered and Harris shot them a venomous glare.

Lassard said nothing more. He was not the confrontational type, and it showed. Harris glared at Wayne, now showing him open hostility.

"You see, Commandant. He now angry," Wayne said, indicating Harris with a hand. The irate glare instantaneously disappeared from Harris's face, though Lassard was evidently able to glimpse upon it for a moment.

"I am very, very shocked by your conduct, Captain Harris," Lassard said in a slightly sterner manner to Harris, who recoiled as if physically struck. "You risk setting back our relationship with Russia many, many, many years if you can't apologize to Mr. Wayne—err, Mr. Rakov here."

I watched Harris's eyes self-consciously drop to the floor as he gulped loudly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he remained silent. He used his peripheral vision as his eyes darted to and fro from their downward focus, finally settling somewhere below Rakov's face. There it was—shame. At seeing what must certainly be an ultra-rare emotion from Harris, I grinned until my cheeks hurt.

At the last moment, his eyes met Rakov's. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically as he did so.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his voice almost too low to hear. With that, his eyes fell back to the ground and he dared not look at the recruits staring at him from their seats.

"I forgive you," Rakov stated quite loudly, placing a hand on Harris's shoulder. Harris flinched at the touch but shut his eyes before he could reveal anything else. Instead of verbally responding, Harris nodded his head, his mouth twisted in a grimace.

Lassard turned to us recruits suddenly. "Why are you all staring?" he asked, as if he had _no_ idea. He really was a bit senile.

With that, Lassard and Rakov turned and left the room. Harris was left standing at the officers' table with a full tray of food in front of him. Rather than sit back down, he grabbed his baton and promptly strode out of the room, leaving his tray behind. He did not so much as glance at us cadets.

I glanced at the clock above the buffet line. It was now 8:30 pm. Only an hour and a half until I was to meet up with Harris—if he was even capable of remembering it after being humiliated in front of everyone!

* * *

**Please review! Is Harris in character? Is Lassard in character? In the upcoming chapters, there'll be Tackleberry, Hooks, and Jones too!**


	8. 2200 Hours

**Chapter 8: 2200 hours**

"I can't believe he accused Commandant Lassard of treason in front of the whole academy!" I exclaimed, after Harris had left the room and all conversation revolved around what we had all just witnessed.

"Seems to be a common thing for Captain Harris to do," Stiner replied. "He did it the first day too—he tried to discredit Lassard then and it didn't work either. But this was way more serious."

"Why doesn't Lassard just fire him?" I asked. "How can he stand there and take that?"

"I think that he must have the patience of a saint," Mullers responded. "Before I decided to attend this academy, I asked around about Lassard's reputation. Harris aside, everyone loves Commandant Lassard."

* * *

We had a half-hour left for dinner and at precisely 9 we were to report to our rooms. When I opened the door, Gertrude was absorbed in some kind of romance novel—it looked like a Jane Austen book but I couldn't be sure. I was more of the type to read gossip magazines and want ads than novels, but I had no reading material with me. Rather than disturb her quiet moment with the book, I decided to instead stalk the halls and hoped I'd hear of Captain Harris's firing or resignation. Who would dare stay on as a member of the academy after attempting to damage the reputation of the head of said academy and looking like an ass when proven wrong?

I was certain I'd hear the news soon, that Captain Harris had decided to simply stick to one job, his job as Captain in the precinct—and drop his appointment here. After only 10 minutes of walking around the halls of the female dorm, I got my answer.

"Harris left," Manson informed me after I'd knocked on her door and saw the gossip circle that had formed inside. There was Stiner and Mullers and Brookstone as well.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I had to be completely sure that it was permanent.

"He left. He was staying over in the guys' hall and Norris said that Bordeaux saw him leave his room and shortly afterwards, he heard a car starting outside."

"Aren't you happy, Carnegie?" Mullers said with a smile. "Now you don't have to bother going to the gym. No punishment for you. I'll bet Harris won't dare show his face around here again."

"Right," I replied, half-dazed. Was this actually true? If it wasn't and Harris was waiting for me there I'd probably really be in for it. But then again, he'd just lost the respect of every single person at the academy, and all credibility in the process. He was, in short, a laughingstock.

"Callahan's a much better instructor anyway," Mullers said. "How'd she happen to get stuck working with him on the squadron?"

"Did you see the other instructors here? They did complete about-faces when they saw him sitting at the officers' table in the mess hall. She's probably the only one who can stomach him," I replied.

"I wish they'd picked a squadron that could stomach him," Mullers stated, "because I really can't."

"Well, now you don't have to worry about it," Manson replied, looking chipper. "He's gone."

"Speaking of great news, don't forget the party this weekend," Stiner said. She looked at me. "Are you gonna need a ride?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I don't have a car."

"I have a car. We're just gonna head directly there after we're cut loose for the weekend—is that okay?"

"Well, I do need to check up on my apartment, but that can wait until Saturday," I explained.

"I'm from out of town, so I'll probably just be coming back here after the party—well, the next morning at least!" Stiner said with a bubbly laugh.

"Me too," said Mullers and Brookstone simultaneously.

"Ah—that's fine," I said. "I guess I'll head back to my room now." It was now 9:45 pm, only 15 minutes until the time that I was supposed to meet Captain Harris in the gym. I heard a cornet or perhaps a recording of a cornet playing a solemn rendition of taps. I hadn't even heard it the first night because I had been so exhausted. It was officially lights out—and yet, Harris had scheduled this meeting _afterwards_. I silently hoped I wouldn't be yelled at by some other instructor if I should decide to check out the campus later just in case.

"Really though, Carnegie, I wouldn't worry about Harris," Brookstone blurted. "I guarantee he won't show up."

"I know," I replied. "I'm just going to get to bed a bit early."

* * *

I was torn. My watch now read 9:55 pm as I stood in the women's restroom washing the sheen of oil and sweat off of my face. If I started walking now, I'd probably get there at 10 pm sharp. But should I even bother?

I was dressed in the proper clothing for the appointment—it felt odd just to ignore that time which burned on my mind all day. What was the harm in just checking? I was a pitiful liar and so if he didn't show up tonight and would happen to reappear tomorrow and ask me if I was there, a lie would be immediately known. Really, it was my honest face that got me arrested those three times. If I was a true hardened criminal type, a sociopath with no morality, I'd be driving around right now in that Corsica with nothing on my record, the ashtray still smoldering in my ex's yard.

After another minute or two of pondering, I felt my feet instinctively begin to walk in the direction of the gym, and I stepped out of the women's hall into the cool night on my way to the gym, which sat across campus a short way. The campus was dark at this time of night, but being as it was a police academy, it was probably the campus least likely to attract criminals. I was more worried about Harris showing up than I was about any external threatening presence.

There was the occasional streetlamp lining the walkways of the campus, and I noticed bats swooping around them occasionally, probably getting mouthfuls of flies and moths as they dove around in the night sky. I wasn't a big fan of bats and so I kept my body and head low to the ground as I strode along, scurrying quickly past the lights into the safe darkness of the night.

It was then that I heard it, a subtle rustling of branches. Looking towards the offending tree, I picked up my pace over to the gym, which looked eerily dark and silent. I couldn't check the time on my watch, but if it was indeed 10 pm, than the dark gym meant that Harris had stayed away. Apparently he was smarter than I thought. The rumors were true, I told myself. He was gone.

Even though I had convinced myself that Harris hadn't bothered to show up, I stubbornly continued my journey towards the gym. I touched the door handle and pulled on it sharply, only to find that it was locked. In the darkness I smiled, completely relieved.

A branch cracked in the darkness. Gasping with alarm, I spun around to see something metallic, reflecting silver from the moon, an item roughly the diameter of a pistol. Oh my God.

"Pow," a deep threatening voice murmured, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. "You're dead."

I screamed. Loudly and shrilly I screamed, my senses on overdrive, my feet immediately fleeing towards the dorm, heart thudding in my head.

* * *

"Shut up!" the voice called out gruffly, after I'd run out of breath on my scream, already about 40 feet away from where I'd been standing a moment ago. I didn't stop to take in the voice or the mention of my name. I was far too terrified and too intent on surviving to listen to anything the voice had to say.

In a matter of seconds I was back at the woman's hall, yanking the door open with all my strength and sprinting straight for my room.

I pulled open the door to find Gertrude, staring at me as if I'd sprouted a pair of wings.

"What happened?" she said, standing up and towering over me. "Did you find out what that was?"

"What _what_ was?" I asked, panting heavily, still unable to catch my breath.

"That bloodcurdling scream," she explained. "Did you not hear it?"

I felt my heart quickening in my neck, my throat haggard from panting.

"I made it."

"What do you mean, you made it? What happened?"

"I was supposed to meet Captain Harris in the gym tonight. I headed over there, but then I saw the shine of metal—a gun—and someone said 'pow, you're dead.' I screamed and ran."

"Oh my God," she replied with a gasp. "Did you tell Captain Callahan?"

"No, I just got in. I need to sit down for a couple seconds, catch my breath."

"Did you see who it was?"

"No, I just took off running."

"I understand," she said. "Is it okay if I leave the room for a second? I'm going to tell the others. They were all shining their flashlights out the window and I think Captain Callahan was just getting ready to check it out. I'll let 'em know that you're okay, but that there's someone still out there."

I nodded at her and plopped down heavily on my bed. What the hell was that? If whoever that was truly had a gun, why didn't they just shoot me? Or if not that, put it to my head and force me to listen to them? It almost sounded like some kind of terrifying lesson.

Suddenly there was a knock at my door, loud and insistent. I jolted up with a start, my eyes wide with fear.

"Who's there?" I asked, my voice quavering. As I spoke, I glanced quickly about the room in search of a possible weapon. Was this the gunman from outside? I suddenly wished that big, tall, Gertrude had stayed. I knew now that I was not cut out for the police and though I had been capable of driving a car off of my ex's property, I was not capable of facing off with another human, and certainly not if a gun was involved. Flight would win out in a flight-or-fight response.

"Open up, Carnegie," a cranky male voice demanded. The voice was out of breath but unmistakable. I swallowed.

"Captain Harris?" I called out, twisting my face in confusion. I felt the door creak, as if the person outside had leaned his weight on it.

"Who did you _think_ it was; Santa Claus?"

I suddenly thought of the voice I'd encountered outside. It had said two things: 'pow, you're dead' and something to the effect of being quiet. Oh, God. Had it been Harris I'd been running frantically away from? But then—why would he point a gun at me? It made no sense.

Taking several deep breaths, I moved to the door and opened it. Being as the door opened inwards, my sudden opening of the door caused him to lose his balance on the door and stumble into my room, arms splayed out in front of him as he attempted to regain his footing. After a moment of composing himself, he turned to me, eyes full of spite.

"We had a meeting, Carnegie," he hissed, looking irritated as hell. His hat was askew on his head and there was sweat glistening on his face. In this fluorescent light even his shirt looked soaked with sweat.

"Was that you out—"

"Gym!" he growled dismissively, suspiciously eyeing the empty hallway as he spoke. "Now, Carnegie! Move it! Move it! Move it!"

I exited the room first, feeling the tip of that stupid baton prodding me along as I moved along hesitantly. The hallway was totally empty, which presumably meant that Gertrude was going room to room explaining the reason for the scream. Everyone was probably glued to their window facing the gymnasium area, the source of my scream.

Harris and I headed wordlessly down the stairs into the night. I noticed several uniform-clad officers outside shining flashlights into the trees. Upon straightening his hat, Captain Harris walked with absolute confidence beside me, unafraid of the questions that'd most certainly be thrown his way.

A flashlight shined into our eyes, making us stop in place. As I shielded my eyes, I could see the form of the person walking towards us. It was Sgt. Hooks, the petite black woman who'd so deftly avoided Captain Harris in the mess hall.

"Captain Harris, is that you?" she murmured in the mousiest, most fearful voice I'd ever heard, her flashlight quivering as she spoke.

"Yes, it's me, Hooks," he growled. "Now get that damn flashlight out of my eyes."

Immediately she lowered the light with a timidly muttered _sorry_, focusing the beam of light on our feet. She spoke again in her mousy, high-pitched voice, barely audible over the cricket chirps in the night.

"D-did you hear about the—"

"Yes," Harris interrupted, "and you can be assured he won't be back."

Hooks didn't seem completely convinced, and spoke again in that oddly timid voice of hers.

"He?—B-but I didn't hear anyone—"

"That's because it was all done _covertly_, Hooks. Some punk kid from the locality just drunk off his ass. I gave him the whooping his father should have given him years ago. You can tell the other officers that _Captain Harris_ took care of the trespasser."

"—But—"

"This is the girl who was attacked—the girl _I_ rescued," Harris continued, grabbing my arm. "She's the one who screamed. She's in safe hands now."

"Ohhh," Hooks murmured, looking at me. "You were attacked?"

I felt a sharp nudge into my ribcage, evidently from that damned baton. I had told Gertrude a different story—the gun aimed at me and the spoken threat. Did Captain Harris honestly think this was going to work? The true sequence of events had most certainly gotten around to everyone in the women's hall—and my adding only _later_ that there had been an attack would prove what a lie it was.

"Not exactly," I began haltingly, searching for the right words. I caught Harris glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. "After he aimed his gun at me, he tripped and fell," I explained. "He was so drunk that it was _clearly_ an accident that he fell." As I made up the story, I glanced over at Harris knowingly. It was a way to re-tell my gym story from earlier in the day, and I hoped he caught the gist of what I was doing. "It wasn't as much an attack as it was just an unintentional—"

"Well, it sure looked like an attack to _me_, and as you know, I take attacks very seriously," Harris interrupted, his dark eyes locking on mine for a moment. "I was standing across campus," he explained to Hooks, pointing indiscriminately for emphasis, "and I saw her—and him. Let's just say the scumbag didn't get far."

"Oh," Hooks stated quietly. She shifted back and forth between feet as if uncomfortable with the situation.

"Don't you have anything better to do than questioning a superior officer, _Sergeant_?" Captain Harris suddenly announced. "Go and tell the others. The threat is gone. _I_ took care of it."

"Oh—well, okay," she replied, looking at Harris and then at me and then slowly turning around and practically tiptoeing away. I felt a bit better about my cowardly response. Here was an officer of the law probably scared of her own shadow.

* * *

After Sgt. Hooks had left the immediate vicinity, Captain Harris and I began to start towards the gym again, remaining silent. I felt more and more uneasy the closer we came to the gym. What had just happened there with that sergeant? Had Harris just redeemed himself from his earlier screw-up on account of me? If so, he was nothing more than a conniving, manipulative liar.

I stood silently as Harris unlocked the door to the gym, and stepped inside, flicking on the lights and glancing around the large empty building. I hesitated outside for a moment, feeling a strange urge to bolt again. He'd scared the living daylights out of me and at the very least he should apologize to me, not force me to lie to a police officer.

"Carnegie," his voice called out, insistent.

I took several deep breaths, considering. Could he really force me to come in now? He surely had to be on Lassard's shit list for his earlier hollow accusations, and this lousy attempt at redeeming himself rested solely on my sticking to a certain story. I had leverage here.

"What time is it?" he asked, his back turned to me. I glanced down at my watch. It was now 10:25 pm. I hadn't realized almost a half hour had passed since the incident.

"10:25," I muttered.

"You've wasted twenty-five minutes of my time," he said, turning around and facing me. He was clearly ticked off.

"You scared the living sh—_crap_ out of me," I muttered, catching myself. "Why did you—"

"You don't ask the questions; I do," he snapped irritably. "You were three minutes late. I can't tolerate th—"

"I'd heard you left," I interrupted. "I was told by a couple people not to go at all—but I did anyway."

"Why would I leave?" he replied, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at me.

Was this man really so clueless? Was he really so disconnected from reality that he'd miscalculated the gravity of the situation in the mess hall?

"You know why, Captain Harris," I stated.

"No, I don't," he replied, positively arrogant. He smiled at me with his teeth bared. "Care to fill me in?"

"Well…" I began hesitantly. Though Harris was the villain in all of this, I found it hard to speak in such a way to someone who was, at the very least, senior to me in age, if not in rank. And he was both.

"Yeeeeeesss?"

"Well, the thing with Bruce Way—I mean, Wayne—and with Commandant Lassard."

There was a fleeting flicker of embarrassment on his face, replaced by cold impassivity. He chose his words carefully before he spoke, idly touching the tip of the baton under his arm.

"How was my singling out an illegally-obtained recruit worthy of my dismissal?"

"You accused Commandant Lassard of treason in front of all those people," I replied, feeling awkward as hell yet oddly comforted by the fact that I was right—and he was not.

"You don't know Lassard like I do. I've been working here for nineteen years," he shot back with a sneer. "Until you've been here as long as I have, you have no right telling me what is and isn't proper—do you understand me?"

I was too curious as to what he meant—his implication that Lassard was not as good as one assumed—to answer his question. Instead, I asked a new one.

"Wait," I muttered, "what did Commandan—"

"Do you _understand_ me, Carnegie?" he demanded again, irritation heavy in his voice.

"Well, why did you aim a gun at me?" I shot back, clearly not ready to give in to him. He had a lot of explaining to do before I was to blindly accept his excuses. At my accusation, his eyes narrowed with incredulity.

"What are you talking about?"

"A gun!" I exclaimed. "I saw it—it was silver!"

"I did no such thing," he replied, looking affronted. "How dare you accuse me of that."

I was not about to back down, when that visual was very clear to me.

"I saw it!"

"You saw _this_," he said, his finger sharply pointing at the metallic ball on the end of that cursed baton. Oh my God—it was definitely possible. That stupid, asinine baton of his had scared the crap out of me. I hated it more than ever.

* * *

**A/N: In case any of you were interested, Proctor is going to be in a later chapter! Opinions?**


	9. Taking Risks

"Okay, it was probably the baton," I admitted with an exhalation of breath, utterly crestfallen. So Harris hadn't aimed a gun at me. I guess that made me feel a bit better about him, but he was still an asshole, attempting to take credit for 'whooping' the kid who 'attacked' me.

"So, getting back to what I asked you earlier," he said tiredly, "you have no right making assumptions about me without proof to back it up. As officers of the law, we first have to _ascertain_ guilt before we can make an arrest, even if the perpetrator looks guilty as hell."

I was stubborn and I couldn't take his patronizing tone, so I stupidly opened my mouth and said the first thing that came to mind.

"Well, you assumed Lassard was—"

"And I told you I know what Lassard is capable of," he shot back, ire in his voice. "Don't you try to discredit me, Carnegie. You're just a car-stealing excuse-making punk with a big mouth and nothing to back it up."

My breath caught in my throat. He'd done it again, blatantly criticized my very being. My eyes burned and I cursed myself for my weakness. I didn't know what to say, so I kept silent. In my refraining from speaking, at least Harris wouldn't get to hear my voice quaver.

"I would've had the squadron leaders Norris and Bordeaux handle your punishment, but they're nothing but wise-asses themselves. None of you have any respect for authority. This class is the worst class yet," he muttered, glancing around the room. "If my department hadn't encouraged me so _strongly_ to instruct the academy this year, I would never have taken on your class. Let's see…."

I stood in place dreading the moment he'd discover what it was he was going to demand of me. Would I have to hang off of the pull-up bar? Would I have to run half the night away? I hated the suspense of this and yet I didn't want to know what Harris was scheming.

After a minute or two of silence, I heard Harris click his tongue. He had apparently decided what my punishment would be. I held my breath, waiting for him to speak.

"I've decided—your punishment isn't going to be here," he said, moving towards the door. "It's going to be outside."

I followed him silently as he shut off the lights to the gymnasium and locked the door behind him. We walked in silence along the dark sidewalk, steadily approaching the front door to the women's hall.

"I noticed earlier that you don't like bats," he remarked with a flourish of his baton, as he slowed down under the streetlamps, the shadows of bats swooping around visible on the redbrick hall nearby.

I flashed him a look of confusion. Where was he going with this?

"I want you to do two hundred jumping jacks—" he stated, stopping under a particularly bright streetlamp teeming with bats and moths. "—right here."

As he spoke, his baton pointing at the ground for emphasis, a bat swooped low enough to brush the top of his hat, and I cringed as I saw it.

"Ohh," I responded with the sound of dread. "Please don't make me do that, Captain Harris."

At the mention of his title, he flashed a smug little smile and then nodded his head solemnly.

"You have to learn your lesson, Carnegie. This is the only way."

"But—eghhh, bats," I moaned. At that, I watched a bat flying straight for his face. He noticed it just before it could hit him and he practically fell into a squatting position, holding onto his hat and baton for dear life.

Instead of standing up fully again, he half-rose, keeping his top half bent over, and walked casually over to a wooden bench and sat down.

"Get to it, Carnegie. The longer you take, the longer you get to be out here with _them_." On his face was a smirk of pure malice.

Cringing unashamedly, I walked towards the point he had indicated, straightened up my back with a sigh and did two jumping jacks, making subtle movements back mid-jumping jack from the most intensely lit part of the sidewalk.

"I'm not pointing out the spot again," Harris remarked. "The jumping jacks don't count unless they're done on the spot I indicated."

I watched him cross his legs, laying the baton across his lap as he reclined his arms against the backrest of the bench.

Rolling my eyes ever so carefully, I moved back to the spot he had pointed out. He was watching me at this point and gave me a nod when I'd reached the spot. As he nodded, I felt something brush across the top of my hat and I made a grossed-out sound but felt an odd rush of relief that my head was somewhat protected.

"The hat," he said, voice triumphant. "Off."

My jaw dropped and eyes went wide.

"What?"

"Hat off, Carnegie. You need to get the full experience."

I didn't feel too ashamed to beg.

"Please, Captain Harris—please let me do something else. I'm really good at—"

"Talking out of line?" he cut in. "Yes, I can see that."

"Please—I don't want to get rabies. I've learned my lesson. Please don't make me do this."

Instead of responding with a snide remark, he crossed his arms impatiently and watched me, cocking an eyebrow. I stood there motionlessly for another half a minute and then reached up to my head, removing my hat but holding it in my hand.

When he didn't say anything to my retaining the hat in my hand, I did three jumping jacks, gripping the hat on the tips of my fingers to shoo away the bats. Midway into my fourth jumping jack, I heard him speak.

"Hat _on the ground_, smartass!"

* * *

It was torture, plain and simple. I felt those fuzzy buzzing little monsters swipe by my hands, brush through my hair, even skim across the skin of my hand with their putridly warm and hairy bodies. I felt the urge to retch, to run away, to just turn and hightail it out of the academy, but I somehow suppressed those urges as my legs became more and more tired and achy. All the while I kept the count silently in my head, shutting my eyes to block out the sight of those hellish creatures swooping into my view. Of course, I couldn't shut my eyes for long because I'd either hear Harris tell me to open them or because I'd decided I wanted to at least slightly stifle their ability to suddenly materialize through my hair, against my skin with visual awareness of them.

I couldn't even look in the direction of Captain Harris. I hoped that a bat would swoop down, land on his face and scare the crap out of him but it was clear that the bats liked to hang out where I was currently jumping up and down.

The squeals and squeaks of the bats were almost enough to make me attempt to fall out of the way when I'd hear them coming. Several jumping jacks were disqualified by Captain Harris when I fell into a squat or on my rear end in the middle of a jumping jack to avoid a particularly aggressive bat. As I forced myself to finish, I could feel an impending charley horse and I openly winced as I jumped, my teeth set in preparation for the intense pain I'd soon be feeling. I hadn't even gotten the opportunity to warm up for this massive amount of exercise and I knew I'd be paying dearly for it tomorrow. I probably wouldn't even be able to walk, and Harris would use that as an opportunity to poke fun at me and belittle me in front of everyone again. But then there was the free weekend and the party. The way I felt right now, I was in no mood to attend a party—I just wanted to go to sleep for an entire 24-hour period of time. There. Two hundred jumping jacks.

I stopped moving and stood in place, glancing ever so carefully at Harris. My calf was tightening like a ball… The pain was soon to follow….

"I counted 198," he remarked, languidly looking down at his wristwatch after he spoke. "Two more, Carnegie."

The charley horse was coming. Could I pull off two more jumping jacks before it would hit?

One. I shut my eyes tightly. Two. As I landed on my feet after the jumping jack, it struck in both calves. I let out a cry of pain as I crumpled to the ground like a rag doll, locking my teeth together and moaning helplessly as the pain paralyzed me. I could feel some part of my sweatpants rip out as I fell to the ground, but that didn't matter. I lie on my side in the fetal position on the sidewalk, unable to move or even think. As I fought the pain, breathing heavily and moaning in agony, I attempted to reach for one leg and then the other, but it was no use. I was utterly paralyzed with pain.

It was the worst pain I'd ever felt, the worst charley horse a person could ever imagine. That's it; I'd decided—this was not the life for me, not the career for me. Harris was Satan incarnate and this academy the seventh circle of Hell. I would leave this place, bail be damned.

I then came to the realization that Satan—err, Harris was standing above me, his shoes by my face as I felt tears streaming out of my eyes, tasting blood in my mouth as I evidently had bitten my tongue or the inside of my mouth. I wasn't certain—all the pain was in my legs, shooting up my spine, making me feel sick to my stomach. I'd never wanted so badly to die.

"Charley horse?" he remarked. I couldn't speak even if I'd wanted to. I figured he'd walk away now and leave me to my pain. I shut my eyes tightly, barely able to move my head in a kind of nod.

"You have to rub it," I heard him say through the curtain of unimaginable pain. I simply couldn't move to do that, even though my vocal cords were busy making animalistic yowls. The charley horse was in both legs equally and I was debilitated physically and verbally from it, aside from writhing and moaning in pain.

"Keep it down, Carnegie," Harris hissed, gesturing with downturned palms. "You want the whole campus to hear you?"

On the occasions I'd open my eyes for a moment before shutting them tightly again, I'd see Harris's shoes still there in front of my face. What was he doing standing above me? Gloating?

Seconds ticked by like hours and I didn't feel any better—in fact, I felt worse. I now felt full-blown nausea, my body covered in a cold sweat, shivering helplessly as I lay pathetically on the sidewalk.

"Rub it," Harris said insistently. Was he actually expecting me to be able to do that? I couldn't. I tried, but I couldn't. Hadn't he considered that this could happen when he ordered someone like me to do two hundred jumping jacks?

"Can't!" I blurted through gritted teeth, tasting blood and snot and sweat and tears—everything that was currently flowing down my face.

I could see he was now squatting beside me. I wept openly, shaking my head as I did so. I had to be making a scene. He was probably getting paranoid now about how this would look to the recruits and to fellow officers. It was then that I rolled over onto my back, my knees still bent up to my chest, ignoring modesty. Harris's eyes were wide with alarm as he then gaped down at me, his mouth hanging open. I was in too much pain to ask the meaning of his expression.

It was then that I heard the sound of footfalls some distance up the path and Harris stood up with a start. Apparently the person hadn't yet turned the corner because no words were exchanged. At the very least it would be odd for someone to come upon Captain Harris standing over a weeping female recruit lying on the sidewalk in the fetal position.

"Get up, Carnegie," Harris whispered in a hiss from somewhere above me. I couldn't move. I felt him grab my shoulder, but it was no use—I couldn't budge.

"Shit," Harris muttered as he stood up quickly, his shoes facing the direction of the approaching person and then turning to presumably scan the building for witnesses. He squatted down yet again by my face. "Be quiet."

My eyes went wide with the oddness of the statement but now the pain had radiated up into my thighs. My calves _and_ my thighs were now in a full-blown charley horse. He placed his baton on my lap, lifting one of my hands to hold the baton in place. I was in no condition to fight it and so I kept my hand on the baton.

It was then that I saw Harris move to his knees, his face only inches from my body. Horrorstruck and dizzy with pain, I felt him slide his arms under my back and behind my thighs. Was he actually going to try to lift me? I was nearly as tall as him and he was no spring chicken. This would never work….

With a grunt of exertion, I felt my body slide towards the crook of his arms as he slowly and painstakingly lifted me up and regained his footing on the sidewalk, his sweat-covered face staring with trepidation towards the approaching person, who had evidently slowed down or stopped before making an appearance. I no longer heard the sound of the person's feet on the sidewalk, but evidently Harris was still worried, for he didn't put me back down. He held me in his arms like one might hold a grotesquely overgrown baby, and I felt very much like one: helpless, unable to speak, and with tears streaming down my face.

It was then that the footfalls continued. I saw Harris glance up wide-eyed at the women's hall as he silently retreated from the well-lit part of the sidewalk, moving right past the main door to the hall and into the grass. As he uneasily glanced behind him, I felt myself lose my grip on the baton, and it soundlessly fell into the grass. Where the hell was he taking me?


	10. Charley Horse

Captain Harris continued to walk in the grass away from the buildings, carrying me away from the women's hall, away from the campus. Not only did I feel intense pain, but I also felt afraid. I didn't trust this man and here I was, helpless to fight him as he carried me off into the darkness.

It was then that the parking lot came into view. Captain Harris walked up to his unmarked Crown Victoria and stared it down in realization that he couldn't unlock it with me in his arms. Without saying a word, he moved to the trunk of the car and set me down on the lid of the trunk, immediately digging his keys out of his pocket and using them to unlock the driver's side door.

"You're a real pain in the ass, Carnegie," he muttered.

I wanted so badly to tell him off, to demand information, but I was actively fighting nausea along with the intense stabbing pain that was nowhere near subsiding anytime soon.

After opening the passenger door, he moved around to the back of the car and lifted me up from my position on the lid of the trunk. His eyes watching for danger, he placed me into the passenger side of the car, shut the door as quietly as possible and slunk around to the driver's side, getting in but not turning on the car. He held the key in his hand, ready to put it into the ignition, but dropped his hand at the last minute.

"Shit."

He then looked at me, his eyes narrowing as if struck with an idea.

"Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

My eyes wide with fear and burning from crying, I shook my head. I hated that he was seeing me in such a state, but there was nothing I could do about it. I wasn't crying because of him, but rather because my legs were in the kind of state that would encourage amputation. I hadn't actually told anyone I'd be headed over to see if Captain Harris would show up at the gym, but then, I wasn't sure if he was referring to when he'd knocked on my door and brought me to the gym from there. They probably assumed I'd gone to bed—but then again, Gertrude would see that I wasn't there….

"This'll be quick then," he muttered, sticking the key into the ignition. I watched him shut his eyes for a minute as he turned the key. This was it. He was going to kill me and I was going to be helpless to stop him.

"Get down." With his right hand I felt him pushing down on my head.

"Where—" I tried to say, my voice choked-sounding.

"Off campus."

"Why," I cried, terrified.

"I'll explain in a bit. Just get the hell down. And don't you dare puke in my car."

Of course I couldn't move and so he took it upon himself to push down with his hand on the top of my head until I sunk sideways in the seat, my knees still bent up to my chest, the baton he'd entrusted me lying somewhere on campus. He slowly pulled out of the parking lot, keeping his headlights off as he did so, and then pulled out onto the open highway.

After a couple minutes of driving, Harris pulled onto a side street, a street lined with squat brick ranch houses and driveways. He drove past the houses at a non-neighborhood speed, reaching a cul-de-sac and pulling the car into the driveway of a house set a distance away from the other houses. I felt my heart pounding in my head as he turned the car off. What was he planning on doing with me?

Rather than move toward me, Harris got out of his side of the car and opened the garage door to the house. I noticed then that the house was identical to the houses we'd passed in this neighborhood, a tan brick ranch with an attached garage and a patio roughly the size of a step in front of the main door. It was nondescript and had no sense of landscaping, shrubbery, or flowers. Obviously he'd never had a wife in this house. The inside of the garage was pitch black. Was he going to pull his car in?

As I alternately shut my eyes with pain and opened them to take in my surroundings, Harris strode around to the passenger side as casually as possible. My alarm temporarily overtaking my pain, I attempted to kick back as he again slid his arms under me. It was then that I felt his hand touching the bare flesh of my upper thigh, only an inch away from my rear end. With an audible intake of air he removed his hand from there and repositioned it over my clothing. But how was that possible for him to touch there? I was wearing sweatpants, and my sweatpants were still on.

He lifted me up once again and carried me into the garage, pushing the car door shut with his back before bringing me into the garage of the house. It was pitch black in the garage and he set me on a chair I hadn't realized was there before he moved towards the garage door, shutting it from the inside and enveloping us in darkness.

I began to sob, my teeth chattering, still unable to speak. This was the longest charley horse I'd ever had, going on for at least 10 minutes now though it felt like a lifetime. I was going to die miserable and in pain at the hands of an arrogant liar of a police captain.

It was then that Harris flipped a light on in the garage. As I squinted to block out the flood of offending light, I saw that Captain Harris looked utterly drenched. His hair was caked to his head and his face dripped with sweat. The stubble on his face was very pronounced and his police uniform was all askew, many of the buttons of the dark overshirt either undone or snapped off from his having lifted me up.

He strode toward me with concern etched on his face as I took in the image. I could see that his undershirt, a white sleeveless shirt peeking through the missing buttons of his police uniform shirt, was transparent from sweat. Behind him his garage (I assumed it to be his) was extremely typical, with a few shiny-as-new tools hanging on a corkboard and a couple of tattered ancient-looking ribbons, probably from as far back as his junior high track-and-field days. Towards the rear of the garage there was a filing cabinet and a metal shelf holding various cans of paint, car wax, and motor oil. Behind Harris, some kind of vehicle sitting low to the ground was hidden under a dark dusty cover. Just the sight of it made me want to sneeze.

I focused my eyes back on Harris as he stood before me, his labored breathing audible in the empty space. I mouthed the word _why_, and then shut my eyes again as I wrapped my fingers around my thigh and began squeezing the muscle there. Rather than relieve the pain, it sent shockwaves up my spine.

"Ahem," I heard him say. I opened my eyes at the sound. "You asked me why, so I'm going to tell you why," he replied.

I waited for him to explain while in a blur of excruciating pain.

"When you fell after that final rep," he explained, avoiding looking directly at me, "you tore out the crotch of your pants."

At that, he pointed at the garment and as I looked down past my knees, which were bent up against the region of my chest, I could now see that I was blatantly flashing my underwear at him. As a knee-jerk reaction, I tried to straighten my legs to get back my dignity, but the sharp pain of the existing charley horse prevented me from doing much more than grunting with pain and shutting my eyes. I used my hands to continue to attempt to work the flesh, but it made it worse. I winced as fresh tears came to my eyes. Even so, I was now able to consider why he couldn't leave me on the sidewalk, even though he had finished his vague, open-ended explanation.

It now made sense why he couldn't let me lay there on the sidewalk with someone approaching. It would look like he was getting ready to rape me, with me lying on my back moaning in pain with the crotch of my pants ripped to hell. Even if he _had_ attempted to blame someone else on it and claim that he had just discovered me there (which was a likely thing for him to do), he _had_ just explained to Sgt. Hooks that he had 'taken care' of the bad guy. Basically, he had shot himself in the foot by telling that lie. He obviously couldn't use that explanation again in the same evening, especially after he'd been so adamant to claim that he'd taken care of everything. And of course, telling the truth was out of the question for Captain Harris.

"Why did you bring me here?" I said through gritted teeth. "Why not the police station? It's probably closer to the academy."

"Think about it, Carnegie. If I _wanted_ people to see you in your…state, you may as well have stayed on campus."

I just had to get rid of this charley horse. I couldn't even respond to him properly: e.g., thinly-veiled animosity. I squeezed the muscle but it stubbornly remained as hard as a rock.

"Have you not had one of these before?" I heard him mutter with disdain. "You're not doing it right."

I tried to knead the muscle again, instead eliciting an involuntary yelp from my mouth. It was rather loud.

"You trying to get me in trouble here now?" Harris growled, acutely aware of the volume of my pained sound. "Why do I always have to do everything?" he muttered exasperatedly to himself, glancing briefly upwards.

With that, he knelt down in front of me with a roll of the eyes. He took off his hat and set it carefully on the ground next to him. It was then I saw the full extent of his sweaty, tousled hair. In a rare display of insecurity, he ran his fingers through his hair to smooth out the damp mess of silver and brown waves.

"You have to work out the cramp like this," he explained, wiping his hand on the leg of his pants and then reaching out to touch my calf, which was still clad in the sweatpants. With one hand he held my ankle and with the other he ran it deeply into the back of my calf muscle, smoothly moving his hand in a downward motion toward my ankle. He continued this motion, his eyes focused on the task at hand, not daring to look at my face. I winced several times at the rather forceful massage but my curiosity to watch Harris kept my eyes opened.

After a minute or two, he stopped. I stared at him expectantly, unsure of what to do next.

"Better?" he muttered, glancing up at me briefly, furtively.

"It's my whole leg," I sputtered. "B-but y-you… don't need to—"

He rolled his eyes at my reply, but said nothing. I stared as he moved the hand that was on my ankle to my knee. Tentatively he moved the hand that had been massaging my calf upwards. All the while he stared at his hand, and I could see him swallow several times.

It was then that I felt Captain Harris place his hand on the back of my thigh, only an inch or so under my rear end. I closed my eyes tightly, completely unable to even consider looking at him right now.

With a smooth, practiced motion he ran his hand down the fabric of my sweatpants, kneading my balled-up muscle downwards. He repeated this several times while I kept my eyes shut. Soon my left leg was past the agonizing pain, with only a dull ache to remind me of what I had felt earlier.

I breathed deeply with relief as I watched Captain Harris scoot himself to my other leg, attending to it without a word. Within a couple of minutes of massage, he had rid me of the cramping there as well.

"Better?" he asked me, his eyes locking on mine for a second and then moving away as if embarrassed.

"Yes," I mumbled, my voice haggard and nasally. I probably looked atrocious; I could just imagine how swollen and red my eyes and nose were right now.

"We need to get back to campus," he remarked, clambering to his feet and picking up his hat as he stood. "You okay to walk?"

"I don't know," I admitted. Truth to tell, I was terrified that as soon as I put pressure on my legs, they'd lock up again. Even so, my legs slowly seemed to be forgetting the pain they had just been in.

I watched him smooth back his hair again and he placed the hat on his head with practiced grace. It was then that he glared down at me with annoyance, realizing something that bothered him. Just like that, he had snapped out of nice-person mode; he was back to being an asshole again.

"Where's your hat, Carnegie?" he asked, his voice insistent.

"On the sidewalk—where you told me to put it," I replied.

"Just great," he muttered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "And my baton?"

"I dropped it in the grass on the way to the parking lot," I said, wincing. "I couldn't hold—"

"You're pathetic; you know that?" he growled, raising his voice. "Shit."


	11. A Ruby Red Tackleberry

**FYI: Tackleberry is in this chapter!**

* * *

I placed my hands on the seat of the chair in an attempt to stand. I couldn't take many more blows to my ego in such a state.

"Are we going back now?" I mumbled, my voice coming out weaker than I'd wanted.

"Noooo," he replied in a kind of singsong, raising his eyebrows for emphasis as he spoke. "You've got a gigantic rip in your pants. You need a new pair. Stay here."

With that he took off in a fast walk, yanking open the door connecting his garage to his house. He promptly shut it behind him and I was left alone with my thoughts. What was the low-profile vehicle under the cover? I was morbidly curious. Within a moment or two I'd stood up and lightly limped over to the vehicle, lifting the cover off of its hood ever so slowly.

As I pulled the cover back, a perfect mirror finish was revealed; the mirror finish of a red sports car! I continued on my quest to identify the mystery vehicle, slowly peeling back the cover as my eyes got wider and wider.

The vehicle Harris was hiding in his garage was a ruby red 1993 Corvette ZR-1 coupe, waxed and polished to a mirrored finish. Oh. My. Lord. I _loved_ this car and oftentimes walked a mile out of the way from where I held temp jobs so I could steal a glance at the Corvettes glistening on the dealer's lot. At night I used to stand on my tiptoes to glance at the specs on the seller's papers taped to the windshields of these beauties. That, in combination with the ZR-1 package, rounded out the car of my dreams. And here it was in front of me. Four hundred and five horses. Six-speed transmission. A V8 engine that made accelerating from 0 to 60 effortless. My feeling of extreme lust for such a car had been reinforced by the knowledge that I'd never achieve the kind of greatness needed to own a car like this. Instead I'd learned to covet things within my range of achievement: basically, my ex's shitty 1988 Corsica.

Though my parents had a good deal of money, they tended to spend it on lavish vacations for themselves, not on actual physical items like a fancy car. They owned an Oldsmobile Eighty-Eight, which wasn't exactly high class. In the way of cars they were tight-wads, holding on to old cars until the cars sputtered and died. Perhaps this parental stinginess made my lavish desire for a sports car even stronger.

The tires of Captain Harris's Corvette were as black as coal with not a single speck of dirt on the tread or the whitewalls. It looked as if it'd never been driven before. I was transfixed at the sight. Captain Harris certainly had good taste in cars.

I began to think about the implications of this car in Harris's garage. Here he was, a mere cop with my dream car. He probably had to save up for years to afford this, and based on the state of his house, he had no family to support, but it _was_ possible to own such a thing on a cop's income. Maybe, just maybe, this police thing wasn't as bad a job as I first thought.

"Get away from there, Carnegie," a menacing voice growled. I turned my head to look. In Harris's hand was a pair of oversized navy blue sweatpants. The southern drawl I'd heard bits and pieces of earlier was much more apparent now.

"It's—beautiful—" I stammered as I glanced back at the car, feeling a blush coming on as I continued to hold the cover up.

"I thought you said you couldn't walk," he muttered, moving quickly towards me. Immediately I dropped the cover and it billowed back down over the perfectly polished finish of the luxury vehicle.

"Be careful with that!" he exclaimed, catching the cover just before it could settle completely down on the car. He gently lowered it onto the car and then glared at me.

With a look of utter irritation, he thrust the sweatpants into my hand.

"Now that you're walking, you'll have no trouble changing into these," he remarked. "I'll be inside the house. Knock on the door when you're done."

"When did you get this car?" I muttered in awe, as he walked towards the house, his back to me. My voice trailed off as I spoke. "Wow, a ZR-1—it can go from 0 to 60 in 5 seconds."

"Four point _nine_ seconds, actually. I bought it as soon as it came out," he replied, intrigued enough by my knowledge of the car to turn around. "1993. It's the 40th anniversary edition. Very exclusive."

"Has it been driven?"

"Of course it has, nitwit."

"It doesn't look like it."

"That's because I take care of it," he snapped back. "I've put about a thousand miles on it in the last couple of years."

"Are the seats red leather?" I found myself asking. Red leather was the ultimate in interior luxury. I used to admire one particular white ZR-1 Corvette on the lot with said interior—until it disappeared one day, likely purchased by some stuffy old widower on his way to the bone yard.

"Yeeesss—ruby red, to be exact," he replied, a smug smile emerging on his face as he replied in a sing-song fashion.

"Oh my God…. How could you not drive it mor—"

"I only drive it when it's sunny—and only at the right temperature."

"Why don't you park it at the academy?"

"Rain, mud… birds," he replied. That was not a satisfactory excuse and I must have made some kind of face. After a moment of looking conflicted, he continued speaking. "And because my pissant co-officers blew up my last car with a grenade,*" he replied matter-of-factly.

"What? Why?" I heard myself blurt. It was truly shocking. To think that Harris's coworkers hated him enough to destroy his car…..

"They told me it was an accident," he explained, "but I know better. The idiots couldn't stop laughing."

"What happened? Why would they have done—"

"It's a long story," he said, looking almost embarrassed. "What matters is that they aren't going to get the chance to screw with this car. They've only seen it in passing and that's how it's gonna stay."

"How do you find the time to drive it, then? You work all day," I muttered. He seemed to find this a compliment, and his posture straightened another degree.

"Now and again I find the time. Weekends mostly. I don't need to drive it to love it," he explained. "Just owning it satisfies me."

"Could you uncover it so I can see it?" I asked.

"Hell no," he shot back, shaking his head with distaste. "This is my most cherished possession. You'd think I'd let a little punk like you touch it?"

"I don't have to touch it; I just want to see—"

"Stick to Corsicas," he muttered, turning back around and waving a hand dismissively. "And get changed. We have to get back. Don't you even think about touching my car, Carnegie."

* * *

It only took me a minute or so to change into the sweatpants Captain Harris had given(?) to me. I knocked on the door to the house to inform him that I had finished changing. At the sound of the knock he burst out of the door, aggressively charging past me to the car.

"I didn't touch it," I said.

"If I so much as see a fingerprint on the cover I'm taking you straight to jail, Carnegie. You can forget about the Police Academy. I'll book you so fast your head will spin."

It was comments like these that made me lose massive amounts of respect for Captain Harris in very short bursts of time. It was comments like these that made me open my mouth and say the first thing on my mind.

I watched Harris run to his precious car, narrowing his eyes at me as he held up a region of the cover with the end of his baton. Just as he was about to speak, I blurted out my retort.

"Well, you ripped my pants wide open right there on the sidewalk," I shot. "Thank goodness whoever that was came by because you would've had your way with—"

Harris's face was pure poison. He glared me down with those dark eyes of his, his teeth bared, jaw set.

"You wouldn't dare…." he growled, his voice throaty and low. I waited a couple of seconds before answering. His face visibly paled as the silence continued.

"I'm not like you," I replied.

I heard him sigh with relief, the anger immediately dissipating from his face.

* * *

The trip back to the police academy was done in tense silence, with Harris not even bothering to look over at me as I sat in the passenger's side seat, the pair of ripped sweatpants stuffed up under my sweatshirt, being as he hadn't asked for them or taken them after I'd changed into the other pair.

As we pulled onto the street housing the police academy, Harris flicked his headlights off and coasted towards the campus, halting dramatically before reaching the parking lot, where two police cars sat with lights flashing. Something was definitely going on. He pulled beside the curb and quietly turned off the car. I saw him glance over at me, his eyes more anxious than irritated. For once, he had nothing to say.

Floodlights scanned the campus, their bright lights filtering through the trees and shrubbery as they moved about. Cops in full uniform, most of whom weren't even instructors at the academy, stalked the campus. The blue and red of police car lights reflected off the windows of the campus buildings. I heard the tinny indistinct sounds of a megaphone, the occasional scream of a siren.

"You just _had_ to drop my baton, didn't you?" he shot with a sneer, though the fear in his eyes was unmistakable.

As we sat in the dark vehicle, I noticed people—uniformed people—rapidly approaching. They ran at the car with guns drawn, a floodlight subsequently shining into the car and blinding us. Harris shielded his face as the group of police officers surrounded us.

"Let me see your hands!" a cop with a megaphone demanded. My hands shot instinctively into the air, Harris's doing the same. Needless to say, I was surprised by his speedy surrender.

"Step out of the vehicle!"

I glanced over at Harris, whose eyes were larger than I'd ever seen them. He looked over at me and could surely see that I was scared as well. What the hell was going on here?

"Get out of the goddamn car before I blow your brains out!" the guy yelled through the megaphone. In his free hand he was now aiming the biggest revolver I'd ever seen. It couldn't have been legal—I'd never seen a cop carrying anything like that.

Harris didn't skip a beat. He immediately flipped open the door handle and stepped out of the car with hands high in the air. I did the same, but it seemed that I wasn't the center of attention here; Harris was. The man with the megaphone handed the horn roughly to the officer beside him and holstered his gun, taking off at full speed at Harris.

"Tackleberry—slow down!" Harris shouted, hands up yet held in front of him protectively as he attempted to avoid the brunt of the big man's force, just before he was tackled onto the ground with a loud groan. I moved around the front of the car to watch Harris being flipped onto his stomach, Tackleberry using some kind of ju-jitsu technique to wrench his arms behind him and cuff him as Harris's hat fell off and as his sidearm was confiscated. All the while, Harris could only squirm and make sounds of pain like a wounded animal. It was a pathetic sight to watch; I couldn't look away.

The arresting officer grabbed Harris by the collar of his uniform and yanked him viciously to his feet where he stood like a deer in the headlights. I could do nothing but stare at him, then back at the crowd of officers.

"Let me go, assholes!" Harris suddenly blurted, somehow confident again even though he was handcuffed and unarmed. The officers that had been restraining him stepped away, pulling out their revolvers and aiming them at his chest from a safe distance. It was probably a strategy the gun-toting Tackleberry had taught them. At sight of the increased firepower, Harris took several steps towards me, as if attempting to use me as a kind of shield against roughly a third of the officers, who stood off to my right.

"Where are the men from _my_ precinct?" Harris said, scanning the group suspiciously. I saw a couple of the officers glance at each other as if harboring some kind of secret but no one, not even Tackleberry, said anything. Their lack of verbal response enraged Harris. Though he was using me as a kind of protective shield, Harris spoke aggressively, his voice gruff and irritated. "They would know to positively ID a suspect before—"

"We've been looking for _you_, scumbag!" Tackleberry yelled back as he moved around to the front of Harris, his spit flying in Harris's face. Harris was terrified and couldn't hide it. The group of twenty or so cops remained at bay, their guns still drawn, all attention on Harris.

"Why," Harris muttered meekly, his voice much softer now.

"You're wanted under suspicion of assault—and quite possibly rape, kidnapping, and murder."

"Wh-what the hell are you talking about…" Harris sputtered, too stunned to move. I was taken aback as well. Had I really just been in the company of a rapist/murderer?

"Several recruits in the women's dorm said they heard moaning and crying—like someone was in pain. When Captain Callahan walked by the source of the noises shortly after hearing them, she found a recruit's hat—and _your_ baton. Hooks informed us that you escorted an unhappy female recruit outside shortly after you'd rid the campus of a supposed threat. Then you left the campus in some kind of hurry. That female recruit Hooks saw you with is now missing. Where is that recruit, Harris?"

Rather than speak, I saw Harris signal at me with his eyes. All attention turned on me.

"You April Carnegie?" Tackleberry asked me, stalking quickly away from Harris.

"Yes," I replied.

"Damn it, Tackleberry!" Harris raged. "You're supposed to ask her her name _first_ and if it matches the name of the person of interest, _then_ you connect the dots! Didn't you get anything out of your training here?"

"I caught _you_, didn't I?" Tackleberry shot back, a toothy grin on his face. Within a matter of seconds, the big man's attention was again on me.

"I wasn't running!" Harris retorted after a beat, his reply completely ignored by Tackleberry, who didn't bother to look back at him.

"Do you have something under your shirt, Ma'am?" Tackleberry asked me, eyeing the large misshapen lump under my shirt. Initially I was taken aback by the strange-sounding question, but then I remembered the sweatpants I'd inadvertently stuffed up there when I had no other place to put them.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

Rather than verbally reply, I let the torn sweatpants fall out of my shirt, and watched the eyes of the officers follow the path of the pants to the ground. Tackleberry picked them up carefully, holding them by the waistband. The rip in the crotch region was huge and obvious and put on display for all to see. I heard the group loudly gasp, turning their attention to Harris, who swallowed quite loudly, remaining silent yet relatively wide-eyed as he stood beside me, his hands cuffed behind him. Tackleberry handed off the sweatpants to a blond officer standing nearby.

"Did Harris do this to you?" Tackleberry asked me, pointing accusingly at Harris, whose eyes were practically the size of saucers now. Harris was giving me a sidelong stare, clearly holding his breath. If I wanted to nail Harris for anything, now was the time.

* * *

_*The grenade blowing up Harris's car took place in PA6_


	12. A Questionable Questioning

**A/N: Tackleberry, Jones, and Lassard are in this chapter! I hope you like this installment! It's a pretty long chapter!**

* * *

I glanced over at Captain Harris, who was begging me with his eyes. I'd never imagined I'd see such a look on the man's face. It was then I heard the engine of a golf cart approach as it rode up and stopped behind the crowd of police. I could see Commandant Lassard was the operator of the golf cart. After he'd stepped out of the cart, several officers stepped aside to let him into the circle. Though it was nighttime, the distinguished older gentleman was wearing his full dress uniform, his hat perfectly positioned on his blondish-white hair. Tackleberry stepped away from me and smartly saluted the man, which then incited the rest of the officers to lower their firearms and do the same. A rather stupid move, I thought.

"So you found Captain Harris," Commandant Lassard boomed out, his voice regal and crisp in the night air.

"Affirmative, Sir," Tackleberry replied, still saluting the man.

Lassard eyed Harris up and down, his face suddenly concerned. "Why did you handcuff him? He's not being accused of anything—he's just wanted for questioning."

"This _is_ my technique for questioning," Tackleberry announced, "taught to me by Captain Harris himself."

"No it isn't, pinhead!" Harris growled. "You've gone totally nuts! Uncuff me now!"

Tackleberry did nothing to oblige Captain Harris's request, instead shooting him a big confident grin.

"What's with you, Jones?" Harris suddenly growled at a thin man with a little moustache who didn't seem all that concerned about keeping a gun on us. Once he'd caught the man's attention, he gave him a big sneer. "I hear the local landfill is looking for a night-shift guard. Why don't you apply there and do your dog shtick? It'd be more of a deterrent than the half-assed way you're holding your gun on me right now."

Jones looked uncomfortable for a moment as several officers around him chuckled nervously. Suddenly I heard a low menacing growl steadily approaching. I hadn't recalled seeing any German shepherds with the officers, and yet, suddenly it had made itself known.

Captain Harris jumped at the ominous sound, glancing around himself anxiously for the dog that he had apparently pissed off. At the sound of a vicious bark, he took a fast step backwards, ramming his hands into the front bumper of his Crown Victoria and flinching once again at the unexpected obstacle.

"Guess you're right, Harris," Tackleberry remarked with a big toothy smile, briefly turning to Jones. "It_ is_ a pretty good deterrent, eh?"

I turned to watch Jones, who briefly made the sound of a dog panting. My jaw dropped at the explanation of the sudden canine presence. Jones's mimicry of dog sounds was perfect! While I stood amazed at his awesome talent, Harris's eyes went wide with anger and he glared at Jones, who was now smiling easily with the surrounding cadets.

"Very funny, Jones," Harris spat, enunciating every word. "But that's the last time you're fooling me. Mark my words."

Jones made a silly face, as if weighing out what Harris had said to him.

"Marked," he said, pretending to write something down on an invisible pad of paper. Once it was apparent that the confrontation between Harris and Jones was over, Tackleberry turned to face me.

"Ma'am," Tackleberry asked me in a gentlemanly tone, "did this man assault you?" At that he pointed accusatorily at Harris.

Before I could even open my mouth, Harris diverted the conversation.

"Sir," I heard Harris say. Who did Harris have enough respect for to actually call Sir? I turned and looked at him. He was apparently referring to Commandant Lassard as Sir. What a joke! Harris had no respect for this man at all; that I knew.

"There's been some kind of mistake," Harris explained to his superior, his eyes wide and expression quite exaggerated in an attempt to smile. "The recruit in question—she's right here and as you can see, she's just fine," he added, his eyes shifting over to me.

Tackleberry would not tolerate Harris talking out of line, and after flashing Harris a look of death, stepped between Harris and Lassard, facing the senior officer.

"Commandant Lassard, we have not yet heard from the victim in all of this—Miss Carnegie. You see her sweatpants," he explained, signaling for the officer with the sweatpants to hold the torn garment up, which he proceeded to do. Lassard's eyes went wide and he flashed a look of shock and confusion at Harris before returning his focus to Tackleberry.

"Harris is goin' down," Tackleberry asserted with an easy smile, brushing his fingers against the massive firearm at his hip. I gulped at this man's uncontrolled aggressiveness. He moved towards Lassard, reassuring him of something, his head nodding continually as they spoke. I strained to hear what he was saying but was interrupted.

There was a sharp nudge into my side and I looked over to find Harris standing very close to me, his eyes wide and full of anxiety.

"Carnegie," Harris whispered, eyes moving frantically left to right as he sized up the crowd, speaking out of the corner of his mouth. "Don't you dare say yes."

"Why not? It does look suspicious," I replied under my breath. It disturbed me that Harris really believed that my dislike of him could extend to my lying to the police to get him arrested. It disturbed me that he felt this paranoid about others' intentions. Was it true that others had lied in the past to get him in trouble—or was he the one lying to get _others_ in trouble? Evidently his coworkers had obliterated his car, a story that would be embarrassing to admit—so at least _some_ aspect of his paranoia was founded. I almost felt sorry for him. Regardless of his paranoia, he was now totally at my mercy and he knew it.

"Come on, Carnegie," he murmured, his voice insistent. "Tell them the truth."

As if _he_ told the truth! I almost rolled my eyes. I then thought of some bargaining chips that would help out quite nicely in the future.

"On two conditions," I said, suddenly feeling devious. His eyes met mine, the whites of them practically glowing in the searchlight. "One: you have to be nicer to me."

"Fine," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

Damn. The request had been far too vague. How could I benefit from this situation with Captain Harris? It wasn't long before I thought of something.

"And two: your Corvette…." I began. I decided to stop there for the moment to see how he'd respond.

Predictably, his eyes became huge and wild at my partial explanation.

"Hell no," he hissed. "Forget it, Carnegie. There's no way in hell you're getting my—"

"I'm not finished," I murmured back. "I was going to say, you have to take me for at least a… twenty mile drive in your Corvette—next week," I added, being very specific as his look of death faded into one of incredulity.

"Nice try—but cadets can't leave the academy during their training," he muttered.

I stuck out my lower lip, raising my eyebrows as if to say _too bad then_. I was just about to say something, when he rolled his eyes.

"The weekend would be better," he muttered, obviously hating the taste of those words in his mouth. I pretty much did too, being as I wanted my weekends to be totally free of the academy – especially him. Even so, it sounded like that was the sole option for getting to ride in the Corvette. I waited half a minute before answering, enjoying his anxious look all the while.

"Okay," I said with a sharp exhalation of air, realizing the deal wasn't going to get any better than that. All that was left was to confirm this agreement. "So, is it a deal?"

Though the prospect of voluntarily spending time with Harris was nauseating in and of itself, the first condition I had spelled out would hopefully cover that whole issue of him treating me like crap. I felt a bit more confident now.

I watched some officers glance back over at Harris from their previous focus on the conversation between Tackleberry and Lassard. At the redirected attention, Harris looked self-conscious for a moment, his eyes nervously moving back and forth as he composed himself, his back now ramrod-straight.

"Fine—just tell them the truth," he muttered, his voice a mere croak.

The novelty of Lassard being present to witness an arrest had subsided, and the officers were once again making an effort to appear threatening to Harris. Tackleberry redirected his attention at Captain Harris and then at me, that massive silver revolver of his in some kind of Old West-style holster as he bent down to make us eye-to-eye.

"Did Captain Harris assault you, Ma'am? Don't be afraid of what he'll say or do. If he assaulted you in any way, we're going to see to it that he wishes for sweet death to take him."

"Tone it down, Tackleberry," Harris blurted as if chiding a misbehaving child. I glanced over at Harris as Tackleberry took rapid action, standing back up to his full height and stepping away from me.

"That's _Captain_ Tackleberry to you, asshole," he informed Harris, who looked primed and ready to retort. However, at the subsequent sight of the barrel of Tackleberry's huge silver revolver now aimed square between his eyes, Harris obediently shut his mouth. So this man was an equal to Harris, though he claimed to have been trained by Harris. Certainly there had to be some hard feelings on Harris's part.

"April," Tackleberry said to me, his voice much softer now, almost pleasant. His face was friendly and amiable, though his gun was still aimed at a man's head. "Please answer my question."

One final look at Harris—who appeared on the verge of tears, the whites of his eyes glassy as he looked over at me out of the corner of his eye—wait—_was that a whimper I heard from him?_—and I was ready. Just the sight of him looking so utterly fearful and helpless made me want to smile like I'd never smiled before. Those jumping jacks were the best thing that had happened to me yet. Even so, I wasn't like Harris—I didn't take pride in lying.

"Captain Harris didn't assault me," I replied, not looking at Harris. I heard a collective gasp from the crowd. Lassard hid whatever emotion he was feeling. It was like he was disconnected from reality. Nothing fazed him—not even being accused of treason in front of the academy. Tackleberry, on the other hand, carefully lowered his gun from Harris's face, tucking it back into the cowhide holster at his hip. He looked taken aback and yet unsatisfied with my curt response.

"What about your pants and the trip off-campus?" Tackleberry then asked me suspiciously, crossing his arms across his chest. "Was it consensual?"

"What? No!" I blurted, ill at the mere suggestion of that. I heard Harris take a deep breath, his jaw hanging slack, eyes rolling back into his head with utter exasperation. Tackleberry's massive revolver was again pointing at his head, and he cringed a bit. My knee-jerk response to the question apparently sounded like I was admitting to something sexual happening between Harris and me. I had to explain this better. "It was nothing like that," I explained. "Captain Harris was escorting me to the gym."

"Why?" Tackleberry was clearly not yet ready to lower his gun.

"He had… misinterpreted something that had happened earlier in the day as something I did to embarrass him—"

I looked over at Harris, and though visibly relaxed now, was still on guard by my explanations.

"What did you do?" Tackleberry interrupted, shooting a venomous glare over at Harris as if I was a newborn kitten that he had sentenced to die by firing squad.

"I tripped and fell on him."

"I see. So why was he bringing you to the gym again?"

"I guess he wanted to reprimand me for what happened earlier."

"How so? Let me guess; he agreed not to kick you out of the academy in exchange for some kind of sexual favor—"

"That's _enough_," a red-faced Harris fumed as I blurted out a mortified '_what_?'

Harris and I, both red-faced now, exchanged a look at our simultaneous responses, and I continued.

"Like making me do _jumping jacks_. Exercises!" I added. At this, I heard a sigh of relief from Harris as Tackleberry's gun was finally lowered and holstered.

Even so, Captain Tackleberry continued to ask me questions, such as 'Why did you leave the gym?', 'Did you make the noises outside?' and 'Why did you make those sounds?' I replied as thoroughly as I could, and was met with even more questions.

I answered several more questions about the ripped pants, why Harris had chosen the sidewalk instead of the gym, and why we had then left campus. I didn't want to explain that, however, and looked to Harris to chime in.

"I took her off campus because I thought she might need medical attention. She was in so much pain she couldn't even speak. Once I'd determined she had leg cramps, though, there was no need to go the hospital."

Why couldn't Harris tell the truth? I rolled my eyes. Obviously the truth was hard to explain, but in every explanation he gave, Harris always liked to pat himself on the back in some way. He was a liar, an exaggerator, an egotistical jerk—under the guise of a police captain supposedly devoted to protecting and serving.

"Why didn't you inform Captain Callahan before removing a female cadet from the campus? She's responsible for the women's dorm," Tackleberry inquired. Before answering, I watched Harris roll his eyes. He was obviously not happy having to answer to someone he had once instructed, even though they currently held the same rank.

"Several of your witnesses heard the dreadful noises Miss Carnegie made. As you can imagine, such pain demanded rapid action," Harris replied, as cool as a cucumber.

Harris stumbled over his words occasionally but eventually got through the questioning. After Tackleberry was satisfied with the explanations, he took a step towards Harris, decidedly less aggressive now.

"Turn around," he instructed the shorter man, his voice intimidating yet low. Harris did as he was told, smartly keeping his mouth shut.

Tackleberry proceeded to remove Harris's handcuffs and stow them back in his belt. He handed Harris's firearm back to him as well as his baton that had been found in the grass. The circle of police officers had since lowered their weapons but were still in formation.

"At ease, officers," Tackleberry instructed very formally, after finishing up on Harris. At the command they promptly disbanded and trickled away individually or in small groups. Many headed for their squad cars, parked randomly all over campus. The floodlights and sounds of megaphones had since ceased, and there were no more flashes of red and blue speckling campus. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

* * *

"Got something to say to me?" Harris said to Tackleberry, feeling a wave of arrogance as he regained control of his pistol, his baton and his dignity. Apparently he expected an apology from the younger man.

"Count yourself lucky that I didn't shoot first," was the vague yet sinister-sounding reply, as Tackleberry strode off into the night. Lassard wordlessly got back on his golf cart and drove off.

Captain Harris and I were now alone standing side by side in front of his car. I glanced over at him, feeling an odd sort of kinship with this man, being as we'd both just went through a stringent series of questions and lived to tell the tale. It was the first time I'd been surrounded by cops and _not_ gotten arrested.

As I stood in place, I was again aware of the dull ache in my legs as a reminder of the intense pain I'd felt about an hour ago, an ache that had increased as I stood facing that long drawn-out series of questions. I bent over and rubbed my calf through my sweatpants and glanced over at Harris, who looked deep in thought.

"I hope I'm able to do exercises tomorrow," I muttered offhandedly.

"Why wouldn't you be?" he asked with a sneer. "You up past your bedtime, Carnegie? Need your beauty sleep?"

"No, it's my legs," I replied, annoyed at his tone of voice. He had agreed to be nicer to me, and so far he wasn't holding up his end of the bargain.

"That's no excuse," he retorted, scoffing indignantly and taking a few steps towards the driver's side door of his car. In the chaos that had erupted at the academy in its frenzied search for Captain Harris, he had not parked properly in the campus parking lot and he would have to move his car.

"I thought you agreed you'd be nicer to me," I mumbled, my nerves utterly frazzled. He stopped walking and looked at me, a mischievous smirk on his face.

"Ah… well, you didn't specify how _much_ nicer, how long my being nicer would apply, or _when_ I'd have to be nicer to you. It was a valiant effort though, Carnegie."

It took all the willpower I had within me not to call him an asshole to his face. Instead, I refrained from responding to his obnoxious self-assurance and began walking towards campus.

"Here's your consolation prize," I heard him say. I slowed down but didn't turn to look back at him. "Goodnight, Carnegie," he cooed, his voice a singsong. I almost wanted to smile at his attempt to be kind; even so, he wasn't finished speaking. His final words to me were dissonant, guttural—and vile.

"Sweet dreams…_ sucker_."

* * *

Before I allowed for the crowd of curious recruits to blockade me in my room and question me about the events of the evening, I had to get a shower. I felt utterly disgusting. Normally shower times were in the morning before combat lessons and after lunch, but it couldn't wait. I knew there'd be no one in the showers at this time of night, which was perfect because I was modest and enjoyed my privacy.

I grabbed fresh sleep clothes, a towel, a washcloth and soap from my room and headed down to the women's bathrooms in the basement of the building. I guess it was an okay design decision in that if it flooded, none of the dorm rooms would be involved. Even so, it was odd that such a room had non-frosted windows. Well, this _was_ a police academy—and certainly men had designed this layout.

Whenever I was approached by a recruit with a question on my way to the showers, I hastily explained that I had to shower first. That seemed to do the trick and soon I was all by myself on the way to the shower room. The room was dark and completely empty. Being as one could look right into this room from above and see everything if the lights were on, I left the lights off and then turned on the shower to get it acclimated before I would step in and risk getting scalded or frozen. It wasn't completely dark in the room, being as the moonlight streaming in through the window lit it up adequately.

After the water was at a decent temperature, I shrugged off my clothes and stepped under the shower head as the steam rose up over the ruddy-tiled shower area, hovering like a cloud in midair. Finally I had some time alone to think and feel refreshed. Thankfully the academy wasn't like some kind of military boot camp forcing people to shower at 5 am and only then. Now I wouldn't need to shower until after lunch tomorrow, which meant that I could sleep for an extra half-hour tomorrow morning. I was definitely not a morning person and this academy was not going to change that about me.

As I washed off the sweat, dirt, and tears of the day, I kept my back to the window. I was alone and so I began to sing an Alanis Morissette song—that was one great thing about living alone, getting to sing in the shower. It was then I realized I'd neglected to bring shampoo with me to the showers. Thankfully, before I was about to grumble aloud I saw a bottle that had been left behind on a little ledge under a nearby shower head.

I craned my neck backwards to glance up towards the windows as I massaged the contents of the little bottle into my long unruly hair. It was then that my breath caught in my throat at the sight of movement past the window which was opened about an inch presumably to vent the steam from the showers. Well, it _had_ been only moments ago that the police officers on campus had disbanded. They were probably all headed back to their respective cars. It was dark in the bathroom and they wouldn't be able to see anything anyway. I had been smart in leaving the lights off. I allowed myself to breath normally again and sing "You Oughta Know," my voice echoing really nicely in the empty room. I never passed up the chance to sing, whether in the shower, in my apartment, or in a car. It was liberating, to say the least.

Oh God—it wasn't shampoo I had put into my hair—this was some kind of sticky viscous hair gel! In a complete panic, I immediately set to work using my fingers to forcibly slide the gooey substance down the strands of my hair to try to avoid my hair setting itself into some kind of Aha-era bouffant for a cross-dressing female role in the musical _Grease_.

It was then that I heard the sound of shattering glass from the direction of the window I'd been looking at. I froze at first, my voice dying off immediately, and then turned around to face the window, using my washcloth and my arm in an attempt to preserve my modesty. The window was whole and complete, and not a shard had been displaced. The mirrors along the wall were all intact as well. How strange. Though the shower was hot on my back I felt a chill at the unusual noise—and what it might imply. If nothing else, this was definitely a push for me to finish up quickly. Immediately I immersed myself under the shower head as I continued to fervently pull the gel out of my hair. It wasn't exactly water soluble—way oilier than I would have guessed—and so it stuck on my hair in clumps as well as being almost impossible to fully wash off of my hands.

"Sir—there's a 406 in progress," I heard a nasally robot-like voice announce from just outside the window, which didn't seem to have anyone standing in front of it. My eyes shot open, the gel that had been stubbornly clinging to my hair now swinging into my eyes and burning my eyeballs. Presumably the 'Sir' had said something back, but he wasn't close enough to the window for me to hear him. I was also too busy actively clearing the burning gunk from my eyes to completely pay attention to anything else. What the hell did 406 mean?

"In here," the voice closest to the window said. His next words were spoken more softly and I wasn't able to pick up on all of them. I could do nothing but stand frozen under the shower, attempting to clear my gel-clogged eyes that burned like hell, as well as my gel-loaded hair. Most of what was said by the man outside the window was indistinct, yet I caught a couple of words. "…down on your belly or he'll see…."

I hadn't imagined my evening could get any worse. When I'd been ordered to meet with Captain Harris in the gym tonight, that was bad. When he'd actually shown up for it, that was also bad. When he'd directed me to do jumping jacks amidst a flock of rabid flying vermin—that was worse. The charley horse—pure hell. My hair becoming permeated with hair gel—yet another terrible moment. And now, my night was going to be capped off with one last parting shot.


	13. Jones

**A/N: This is a long chapter. Jones is a big part of this one!**

* * *

As the ominous words of the man outside settled upon my ears, I jammed my washcloth into my eyes in an attempt to clear the hair gel away to allow my sense of sight to return. I wanted to grab my towel, my pajamas, anything—but I couldn't see through the burning haze over my eyes.

"Oh my God," I heard a gravelly voice mutter ever so quietly. Paralyzed with shock, I rubbed the washcloth viciously across my eyes, finally clearing my vision and revealing my face—to see Harris on his hands and knees at the window, having opened it all the way up, a flashlight beam aimed directly at me in my unclothed state. _Oh my God indeed…._

* * *

Rather than scream and set off a whole new group of people rushing to check up on the sound, I gasped, frozen with shock. Harris's eyes locked on mine, his mouth agape. He was mortified by the mistake— that was plain to see. He attempted to flash me some kind of reassuring look, but his eyes didn't follow suit with his mouth. I frantically scanned the dark room for my towel as I heard Harris scramble onto his feet and disappear from the window.

"You're dead meat, Jones!" I heard Harris bellow, running away from the bathroom window, presumably chasing the man who had fooled him yet again. It was all Harris's fault; if he hadn't insulted Jones in the first place and then boasted that he'd never be fooled again, this would never have happened. It figured; someone finally putting Harris in his place had to be done at my expense.

Feeling rather violated now, I continued to hear Harris yelling, his voice fading into the distance as I located the towel and wrapped it around my body. His voice was shriller than I'd ever heard it. "You better hope I don't get my hands on you, you son of a bitch! You hear me?"

After that embarrassing incident, I strode up to the window in my towel and shut it tightly. There was a used towel lying in a puddle of water by a shower drain and I grabbed it, pressing it up against the window using its dampness as a way to temporarily affix the towel to the glass. Satisfied with the privacy, I quickly finished getting the gel out of my hair and simply used my bar of soap to clean my hair for tomorrow. I made a mental note that when I was let out of here this weekend, that I'd buy some shampoo—and perhaps a bathing suit to shower in. Just a bunch of perverts on this campus!

* * *

As I trudged up to my room feeling much cleaner physically—yet violated by the breach on my privacy by none other than Captain Harris himself—I had every single female recruit in the dorm stop by my room in cycles hoping to hear some juicy information. I told them the whole story in gory detail. They now knew that it had been Harris outside with that stupid baton threatening me in the dark, Harris escorting me to the gym and then deciding I should do jumping jacks in the midst of a bat feeding frenzy, my bout with the worst charley horses I'd ever experienced in conjunction with the ripping of my sweatpants, Harris's panicky escape with me to avoid being discovered in such a compromising situation, and of course our drama-filled return to campus. I found myself leaving out the part about Harris massaging my legs and the part about his ruby red Corvette. It just didn't fit into the general gist of the story, of him being an all-out asshole with no redeeming qualities.

"Well, this weekend you'll get to get away from here," Mullers said encouragingly. "We are gonna get so wasted you'll forget everything that prick did to you this week."

"I sure hope so," I admitted. Hmm…. Blacking out and forgetting didn't sound quite as bad as I'd always assumed it'd be. I'd never actually tried that—though it'd be next to impossible to convince Harris of that fact. He thought I was some kind of menace to society—a worthless, despicable person through and through. Even though I'd been stupid enough to let an asshole from my past affect my life in an overwhelmingly negative way, my life was relatively uneventful.

I'd grown up in a family of seven, the outcast in the dead center of five children. I'd gotten average grades all through school and yet in my senior year I improved my grades quite a bit to achieve my goal of being accepted at an exclusive private school, which I then achieved. Only a couple months into college I met Tony, a poly sci major a year ahead of me. The relationship itself wasn't as memorable or as life-altering as the breakup. Rather than graduate with what I'd hoped would be a degree in psychology, here I was, moving back in with my parents while my older and younger siblings all soared through college into their own houses and apartments. Several years later as I was getting back on my feet, Tony got back in touch with me, and all the problems associated with him came back into my life. After he'd callously rejected me the second time, all hell broke loose. I was arrested for the first time for dumping an ashtray in his yard, then two other times for taking that damn Corsica. Speaking of which, I wondered if Harris would uphold his end of the bargain with the Corvette…. Egh. I highly doubted it. And now I didn't care either way—I wasn't sure I could ever look at him again after what he'd gotten to see…

"Earth to April," I heard Mullers say, waving her hand in front of my face. "You drunk already?"

I attempted a fake laugh.

"No," I explained. "I'm just spacing out—it's just been a long day."

"Point taken," she replied. "Especially with all the extra hours you had to spend with Harris. That would be enough to drive me to drink—that is, if I wasn't planning on doing it already tomorrow!"

Gertrude had been sitting up in her bed and had remained generally pretty silent yet attentive to the conversations I had with various recruits. However, she had a question on the tip of her tongue.

"Everyone's morbidly curious—they'd expected Captain Harris to quit," she explained. "Was he really tackled to the ground?"

"Yeah," I replied, fondly recalling that image. "The big military-obsessed police guy—Captain Tackleberry, I think his name was—was making Harris cry out with pain. It was actually quite pitiful to watch."

"Awesome," Mullers replied.

"Are you going to the party, Gertrude?" I asked. It seemed that Mullers, Stiner, Manson, and Brookstone were raving to go, but Gertrude had remained silent the entire time.

"I'll be the designated driver," Stiner added, a bit too cheerfully.

"Wait? You're not gonna drink?" Mullers responded, looking surprised.

"Nah, I've learned my lesson," Stiner replied, her voice softer. "So, do you need a ride, Piazza?"

It was the first time I'd heard Gertrude's last name pronounced. I tended to think of her as Gertrude, being as I'd had no idea how to pronounce her Italian-sounding name. Now I knew better.

"No," Gertrude responded. "I'm going back home to spend the weekend with my husband and kids."

"You're married?" I blurted. I hadn't said it in the best tone of voice, and her hurt look confirmed that. "But you're not wearing a ring," I added, attempting to save face.

"Yes," she replied quietly. "Going on five years. I was older when I got married—29. I think it's best for a police officer to keep his or her personal life personal, so I didn't wear my ring. Are you married?"

"Nope," I replied after a beat.

"So let me understand this," Mullers cut in, looking over at Stiner, "you don't drink at all now?"

Stiner merely shook her head.

"What happened?" I asked, morbidly curious. She glanced at me, looking ashamed.

"I got a bit buzzed and drove home one night several years ago," she curtly remarked, avoiding any details though it greatly bothered her to discuss it at all. "I hit someone—and didn't hang around for the cops to come. Being convicted of felonies really shrinks the number of places willing to hire you. Thank God the mayor is allowing for anyone to apply to this academy. In any other city this would never be possible."

"And you're driving us to this party?" Mullers remarked, a big smile on her face. She was brave to joke at a time like this.

"Like I said, I did that when I was drunk, which I will never be again," Stiner admitted. "The person I hit, I've heard, is back on his feet and moving on with his life. I have to move on too. My boyfriend told me becoming a cop would help me do something good for the world—and so here I am."

And I had thought _my_ life of petty crime was bad—of course, I could've ended up being convicted of a felony, had Tony decided to press charges. Thankfully he hadn't. Of course, spending the entirety of my love life on and off with him over the past several years had all but eliminated any other dating prospects. These other cadets had men who loved them—I had an ex that I was thankful hadn't pressed charges against me. I felt like quite the ass.

All the while, Stiner looked extremely uncomfortable at having opened that rather stinky can of worms. I thought of a way to change the subject.

Now that I was aware that Gertrude and Stiner were in relationships and that Manson wasn't married, that left Mullers and Brookstone. A perfect way to change the subject.

"Seems like everyone here's in a relationship, except for me," I said with a fake chuckle. "Are either of you guys married?" I asked, looking at Mullers and Brookstone.

"Divorced," Mullers responded curtly. Brookstone merely shook her head.

So it seemed that only alleged sleazy people like me (according to Harris) and painted ladies like Brookstone remain single well into their thirties.

"Eh, I have years to go for that," Brookstone suddenly said. "I'm only twenty-two. You met Norris, right? He's my ex."

"You dated _Norris_?" I blurted, grossed out by the mere idea of hanging out willingly with that goofball.

"Yeah," she replied self-consciously. "At first his practical jokes drew me to him, but then I just got tired of his sense of humor. So childish, you know?"

"I agree," I said, nodding my head too enthusiastically. The look on her face betrayed her statement.

"Not _once_ has he tried to talk to me since I got here. Not even after I pinned O'Malley on the mat the third day of the academy," she said with a frown. "I mean, he laughed, but that was it." Of course she had to be stuck on that unfunny loser. That's probably why she wore so much makeup.

"You can't look like you're trying too hard. Guys' egos feed off of that stuff," Mullers said soothingly.

"What do you mean?"

"No offense, but—well—you're always so… made-up, like you're getting ready to go to the opera or something. You want him to notice you? Play it down a bit."

"Made-up? You mean, like, my mascara?"

A nod from Mullers.

"Huh. So you say, if I play it down, it'll be better?"

"Oh yeah," she replied. "When me and my now ex-husband broke up at some point early in the relationship, right when I _stopped_ caring if we got back together, he _started_ caring."

So I was an old maid surrounded by women who had seemingly full lives outside this academy. To me, this academy was the first major thing I'd undertaken since college and I had not much going to speak for, besides feeling perpetually bitter and rejected. I hated being reminded of my empty existence and didn't spend too much longer listening to their gushy stories.

Where was poor Manson, in the same predicament I was in, at a time like this? I had the urge to go hang out in her room for a while and exchange sob stories, but after a day like this, I decided to lie back in bed and relax. The group was still presumably talking when my head hit the pillow, which was the precise moment I fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning passed uneventfully enough. I went through the motions of the morning hand-to-hand combat course in the gym half-asleep and spent the entirety of breakfast answering questions about the night before—minus the shower surprise, of course.

Speaking of which, Harris was now being very stand-offish with me. I wasn't complaining, of course. I kept my eyes cast downward to prevent locking eyes with him as he strode through the formation in his usual arrogant way. He didn't make any effort to get me to look at him, which was a big relief.

A couple of the squadrons ran together for the obstacle course, which made everything a lot more crowded. It also slowed down the pace of the runners and so, though there were many unfamiliar faces and two extra instructors, it was a relief to jog in a half-assed away rather than keep up a kind of military pace as before. My legs were extremely sore but the slow pace kept them from locking up again and turning me into a crying baby.

Even though Harris had backed off a great deal, somehow my exploits had attracted the attention of a male member of another squadron, a buggy-eyed, sandy-haired cadet by the name of Ace. He was clearly several years older than me and had quite a head of feathery hair parted 70s style, which made him look like some kind of disco reject. When there'd be a lull in activity and Harris was long out of earshot, he'd slow down and keep pace alongside my rather pitiful hobble of a run and ask me about myself.

"Why is Captain Harris always picking on you?" he asked me, to my chagrin.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I replied, half out of breath.

"Heard you fell on him and then he tried to kill you. He's a dumb son-of-a-bitch, isn't he?"

"That fall was an accident," I explained, interrupting him in the meantime, "He wasn't trying to kill me last night; he wanted to discipline me for that fall which he believed to be on purpose. And yes, he is."

"My given name's Arthur Graham—but you can call me Ace; I don't like this 'last name' shit," he said in some kind of New England accent, slowing his pace and extending his hand, which I shook briefly. "Name sound familiar?"

"Uh, no. Why, what do you do?" I muttered. What kind of a weird question was that? Why would I be familiar with the name of a fellow police academy recruit from a different squadron? At my response, he looked relieved, a smile extending across his face.

"You're April Carnegie, right? Like the steel guy?"

"Yeah, and I don't like being called by my last name either," I replied, half annoyed and half overjoyed that people were making an attempt to recognize me by name. I was gaining a kind of odd notoriety around here.

"Why not? Are you not actually descended from Andrew Carnegie?" he pushed on, ignoring my earlier question.

"No, I am," I responded, in the same flat tone. Well, at least my last name wasn't Manson. Connie was going to have a hell of a time finding a decent guy out there for her.

"Wow," Ace replied.

"Speed it up there, Carnegie!" Harris shouted through his megaphone as we leisurely passed him by on our way to the next obstacle. Rather than flash me a look of triumph, suddenly his attention focused on the feathery-haired man jogging beside me.

"Wait a minute," he muttered, his eyes narrowed as he stared Ace down, his shoulders squared off. Just as we were about to pass him by, Harris stuck out his megaphone to stop my temporary running partner.

As Ace was forced to stop behind Harris's megaphone-holding arm, I slowed down in turn.

"Don't wait up," Harris growled coldly, giving me a sneer. With a subtle eye-roll, I continued on my way. What business did he have to pick with Ace Graham? Was it a crime for someone to talk to me? With the burst of adrenaline my anger afforded me, I found myself running a bit faster.

* * *

At lunch I explained my story to other recruits who hadn't been informed of the proceedings after the campus-wide search for Captain Harris and its resulting pseudo-arrest. As tall, brawny Captain Tackleberry entered the mess hall for lunch, he received a standing ovation from a mass of recruits, at least three-quarters of them from our squadron alone. All the while, I watched Captain Harris scowl from his position at the officers' table, apparently having realized he needed to get to the mess hall before the others if he was to secure a seat at the table. Of course, after Tackleberry had picked up his food he made a beeline for Captain Harris's table and sat down right across from him with a big toothy smile on his face. I held my breath as the other cadets watched in suspense.

Much to my surprise and chagrin, Harris didn't even acknowledge the presence of the man across from him, instead using his napkin to polish the end of his baton while he waited for his hot potato-like mush and meat-like food object to cool down. I could've sworn he sighed with disappointment as Tackleberry sat across from him. Not quite the hot-headed response I'd hoped for.

I continued to eat, listening to various stories and attempting to keep down the increasingly gross stuff they referred to as food. It was the most peaceful meal I'd had yet in the mess hall, with no real conflict or activity. As soon as I'd acknowledged that thought, I heard a voice from the officers' table.

"There's plenty of room," Captain Tackleberry's voice bellowed, and soon the whole room was looking towards the officers' table. It was then that I realized Tackleberry had been speaking to Jones, the expert mimic who'd fooled Harris twice last evening. I noticed very clearly now that Jones was a higher rank than a mere officer, for he had some stripes on his shirt cuffs. Now that I was aware of the fact that Jones was an instructing officer, Harris's insult towards him in front of his subordinates last night was even more inappropriate.

"Yeah, Jones, sit right on down," Harris added, patting the chair beside him, the thick sarcasm in his tone betraying the accompanying sweet smile. Jones looked at his two coworkers for a moment and then hesitated. He couldn't help but also see the cadet eyes that were watching his every move. He cleared his throat, obviously not wanting to sit with Captain Harris. I couldn't blame him. Why was Harris suddenly being nice to him? Had he caught up with him last night and gotten back at him for the shower room incident? I doubted it.

"Certainly. Captain Tackleberry, Captain Harris," Jones said cordially to the two men, giving each of them a friendly nod as he spoke each name. He put down his tray of food onto the table and then, with a sharp intake of breath, pulled out the empty chair next to Harris and lowered himself onto it.

With a loud thud of metal and plastic Jones's chair collapsed on the floor, Jones splaying out on his back on top of it. Instantly all eyes were on the officer table. Tackleberry swallowed down whatever humor there was in the situation but Harris cracked up unabashedly, looking completely pleased with himself, a big toothy grin on his face as he watched Jones pull himself to his feet and dust his clothes off. I could hear the cadets around me laughing as well at the situation.

Somehow Jones had nothing to say to Harris as he composed himself once more. The man truly had ice in his veins. He shifted his tray over a couple of feet and sat in the seat beside the stoic-faced Tackleberry. Without saying a word to Harris, he began to eat.

As Jones sat down, I saw some kind of wiring extending off of a couple of walkie-talkie type items on his belt loop, rather than him carrying an additional sidearm. Apparently he was more of the communications-type guy than a shoot-to-kill cop like Captain Tackleberry. That also explained the lackadaisical way he had held his gun on Captain Harris the other evening.

Harris leaned over towards Jones and began speaking to him in a tone so gravelly and low that apparently no one in the room picked up on it, a fact which included Jones as well.

"Could you repeat that, Sir?" Jones asked in a small, monotone tone. Not a trace of anger was in his voice. How he could refer to Captain Harris as Sir after he'd embarrassed him a moment before was truly impressive. Captain Harris looked annoyed at Jones's request and rolled his eyes.

"I said, you deserved that for MAKING ME LOOK LIKE SOME KIND OF PERVERT LAST NIGHT," the PA suddenly boomed, giving his last several words a hollow echo as they resonated loudly throughout the large room. Captain Harris suddenly froze in place, his mouth agape, and began glancing about for the source of the sound with only his eyes. His voice had been broadcast to everyone. He was utterly mortified.

In the meantime, Jones looked calm but Tackleberry was unabashedly grinning, his teeth all out on display as he kept his gaze on Harris. Captain Harris _had_ to have been referring to the incident with the restroom. By his tone of voice, he clearly hadn't meant to spy on me, and I almost felt more respect for the man. Then I remembered the original reason for Jones's prank; and my tentative respect for Harris went out the window. All my thoughts following that were buried after the laughter in the mess hall picked up, first in polite chuckles and then, once it was apparent that Harris was stunned into silence, it picked up into loud guffaws.

It was then that Harris's eyes wandered downwards towards the surface of the table, towards Jones's lap.

The static hiss of a radio transmission sounded and I saw Tackleberry and Harris both flinch at the sudden noise. Apparently it had originated from one of the devices on Jones's belt. With the coolness of a cucumber, Jones lifted a walkie talkie to his mouth and asked in a rather nasal, monotone voice for the individual on the other end to repeat the transmission. When it was apparent that transmission was poor in the cafeteria, for only a clipped and garbled response was heard, Jones promptly stood up, nodded at his two coworkers, and left the cafeteria with walkie talkie in hand. I couldn't help but notice a coiled cord hanging out of Jones's back pocket as he retreated. I was certain that had been the device he'd used to broadcast Harris's voice over the PA. Perhaps Captain Harris noticed it as well, for he had stood up and was now glaring in Jones's direction, his jaw set.

After Jones had left the room, all cadet attention returned to the officers' table. Captain Harris had been stunned speechless. As he stood at the officers' table, his eyes scanned the room quickly, shoulders rising upwards towards his ears. With smatterings of laughter still continuing, he contorted his mouth into a grimace, shoved his baton under an arm, and walked hurriedly out of the cafeteria with as dignified an air as possible. He hadn't even bothered to take his food with him, though there had to be plenty left, being that lunch had just begun.

Now that the entertainment was long-gone, I continued to eat as I glanced around at the other cadets. Ace Graham, who I had spoken to earlier during the obstacle course, was now openly hitting on Brookstone at the table. She had evidently taken Mullers' advice because she looked almost devoid of makeup—and fifteen years younger. Jailbait, practically. Ace deliberately seemed to be avoiding the officers' table in the meantime. I glanced the other way towards the men's table to see Norris shooting a glance or two in Brookstone's direction. Now that I was aware of this relationship, it would be fun to watch the development of it over the course of the academy. Though he wasn't talking to her yet, Norris was definitely intrigued by Ace's attention to her. I had been summarily rejected by Ace, I realized now, but perhaps a relationship between Brookstone and Norris could be rekindled in the meantime.

* * *

The classroom time was spent with the 30-odd members of my squadron, and the monotony of Harris's droning on and on about all kinds of boring police procedure that I hadn't even considered to be part of the job—a job that I hadn't really considered much in and of itself. He did all this without even acknowledging what had happened earlier in the mess hall, a place that was apparently designed to cause him the most embarrassment in front of the most people at one time.

At the end of the class Harris suddenly switched gears, pulling a stack of papers out of the instructor desk and distributing them face down onto everyone's desk.

"Now—" he began, "you're going to be tested on what you've learned today. Though I expect most of you dirtbags to fail this quiz, there is no grading curve. Do _not_ turn the paper over until I say so."

Shit. I had totally spaced out in the last half hour of the class. My mind was a blank. All I remembered was the loud thwacking sound as Harris brought his baton down on Bordeaux's desk to awaken him from his cat nap about twenty-odd minutes ago. Nothing else. Apparently Harris would be getting his revenge on at least some of the students who only an hour or so earlier had been laughing at him.

* * *

I watched the mood of the classroom turn from that of boredom to quiet desperation. At least three of the cadets were now chewing their pencils as they stared down at answers that escaped them. I folded the corner of the quiz paper and cleaned underneath my fingernails with it. It wasn't long before Mullers and a couple of the male recruits sighed and stood up to bring their papers to Harris. Had she known the answers or was she giving up? I'd have to ask her later.

Norris's stooge Alberts had put his head down on the desk and was apparently sleeping. He certainly had balls to do that right in front of Harris.

Again that damned baton whacked down onto the desk, causing at least half of the remaining cadets to visibly cringe.

"You got a problem, Alberts?" Harris asked the buck-toothed cadet, who was still not completely awake.

"He's still stuck in the Russian time zone," Norris whispered rather loudly to Bordeaux, who sat next to him in the classroom. I heard Brookstone stifle a laugh—obviously Norris was alluding to Harris's unfortunate run-in with a real Russian the other day. If I didn't find Norris so annoying I might have laughed too. All the while Norris's buddy Beaner, having evidently finished his test, moved behind Harris's desk and placed his quiz paper on it, subsequently leaving the room after flashing a thumbs-up to Norris. Aware of the loudly whispered comment between Norris and Bordeaux, Harris's eyebrows raised and he immediately straightened back up from where he had been looming over Alberts's head and wordlessly walked back towards his desk.

I'd heard Alberts talk before; he certainly didn't have a Russian accent. Apparently Captain Harris didn't want to take any chances again, just in case there was any truth to the statement. I guess I didn't blame him. Commandant Lassard could probably be swayed by Alberts to make Harris apologize publicly again.

As Harris sat down at his desk he let out a little high-pitched yowl and jerked back to a standing position, his hand moving behind him. When his hand returned to the front, in it was a bent copper-colored thumb tack. I forced back a smile. Apparently Beaner had planted it there while Harris was distracted by the sleeping cadet.

His face red, Harris scanned the room suspiciously but said nothing. He was obviously fuming but somehow kept himself from absolutely exploding.

All the while he refrained from directly looking at me. Apparently there were advantages to having my privacy breached. He stood silently, eyeing the cadets suspiciously while attempting to retain whatever dignity he still had. Did he honestly believe someone could have put the tack on his chair and returned to their seats while his back was turned for less than five seconds? I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the thought.

"Who in this class would like to get a good grade on their exam?" he asked, voice ever so calm, almost pleasant, after a minute or two of tense silence. The remaining test-taking cadets looked at each other and at him with confusion, and slowly, students began to raise their hands.

"Unless one of you would like to _volunteer _information as to who the wise-ass was, you're all getting a grade lower than you earned. Remember that when you're turning your papers in."

With that, he went back to his seat behind the desk, and after looking down first, sat behind the desk, clasping his hands in front of him. It was then that I noticed Captain Harris looking directly at me, his gaze expectant. Did he actually expect me to tell him something about the prankster? If so, he had something else coming.

After Alberts had fully woken up, I noticed Bordeaux passing him a note while Harris put the tack into a desk drawer. Alberts read it and gave Norris a smile and a thumbs up. Obviously Alberts would now have to fake his Russian origins, and in turn be handled with kid gloves by Captain Harris from now on.

The fact that Alberts was now aware of his Russian heritage didn't matter anyway today; after he put his head back down and fell asleep, not bothering to finish the quiz, Harris did not so much as acknowledge his existence.

Though Harris continued to glance at me with anticipation, I was no rat. Besides, I was going to get an F in the first place, so there'd be no advantage in it for me anyway. He'd already told me he wasn't going to be nicer to me, and I'd already lied for him once in front of Hooks; I'd given him way more help than he was entitled to.

As I approached him with my paper, he gave me that expectant look again, his eyes following me as I walked to the front of the class.

"Carnegie?" he murmured, his gravelly voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Yes, Captain Harris?" I played innocent, realizing there'd be no way he could extract information from me in front of the other students.

Staring up at me, he set his mouth in a near-smile, eyebrows raised as he conveyed to me nonverbally his need for information.

"Here's my quiz," I said, handing him the paper with a smile. As soon as he took it, that look of hope faded into that of disappointment. His eyes dropped to the paper and did not rise to meet mine again. I left the room feeling strangely frustrated, an emotion not completely attributed to my surefire 'F' on the quiz.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you'll continue to follow this story! Proctor's going to be in the story very very soon!**


	14. Gunfight

The next day, we got to wear our police uniforms and hats and practice shooting guns at the firing range with another squadron, the one that we had run with the day before. Apparently it was the first time a group other than Captain Tackleberry's squadron had been able to access the range, and I was a bit pumped. I'd never shot a handgun before.

I was pretty surprised that we were immediately given revolvers in the supply room. Upon entering the range, Captain Callahan showed us how quickly she could fire off a shot and hit the person-shaped target right in the center of the chest. Most of us didn't realize she'd shoot so quickly and we jumped at the sound when the gun went off.

We were then each handed a bullet and Callahan instructed us how to load and cock the weapon. Ace somehow ended up next to me and I watched him slide the bullet right into the chamber without paying attention to Callahan. When I looked at him, rather impressed with the quick way he was able to pick up this lesson, he smiled at me.

It was then that Harris handed each of us ear muffs to muffle the sound, yet instructed us not to put them on yet, being as Captain Callahan was still instructing us. Rather than give Ace ear muffs, he shot him a dirty look and walked on. I was appalled. What was his problem, anyway?

"Now, you always keep the safety on your gun until you are ready to fire," Callahan explained as she paced in front of the recruits with her revolver, the men's focus of course not extending above her chest. "Even if the firearm has its safety on, _never_ aim it at someone. Always aim it in a safe direction. Use common sense, people."

It was then that we were told to face the targets and stand in our designated spots. Ace stood next to me, smiling to himself. Callahan moved to a spot behind us.

"You may put on your ear muffs now and commence firing," Callahan announced, and the first shots rang out before I could put my ear muffs on.

Rather than shoot right away, I glanced in the direction of Ace, who looked bored.

"Hey, Carnegie, pick a place for me to hit," he said.

I squinted down at the targets. "How about in the Adam's apple?"

He gave me a solemn nod and aimed the revolver. In less than a second he fired the weapon and I could see far in the distance a hole right in the center of the neck of the target where the Adam's apple would have been.

"I take it you have past experience with guns," I said, still pretty amazed. I heard someone sigh behind me, most likely because I hadn't yet fired. We were supposed to be taking turns but this new information about Ace was pretty interesting.

"Yep," he replied. "This is nothing. I can shoot any target, anywhere, with any gun."

"Is that why you want to be a cop?"

"Huh?" he suddenly said, looking confused.

"Well, you're here at the police academy," I explained.

"Oh, right," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, that's why."

He gave me a little nod and moved to the back of the line as I fired off a pitiful shot somewhere outside of the target and jumped from the sharp sound. I must've hit dirt because I saw a little cloud of dust spring up from somewhere behind the target.

* * *

The next time I was to fire again, Ace was again beside me.

"You missed the target last time by a long shot," he said, looking a bit cocky yet oddly playful.

"Yeah, well, I've never done this before," I responded.

"I can give you some pointers," he offered, moving into my little shooting box up behind me. "Hold your gun up. Keep both eyes open the whole time. When you hold the grip, don't squeeze it real tight. Center the grip in your palm. That's right."

Now he was touching my hand, moving my fingers to curve around the grip.

"Keep your fingers high and snug up against the bore," he continued to explain, pushing my hand upwards on the gun. "It'll give you more control."

Ha. The first time I'd shot the gun I had it in a death grip.

"Now, this is actually a revolver, so you don't want to lay your hand on the cylinder," he explained. "Put your thumb on the bore parallel to it so that you—"

"And what the hell do you think you're doing?" Harris suddenly boomed from behind us. Ace flashed him a look of annoyance. Lowering the gun, I spoke up.

"He's showing me how to hold—"

Harris lifted an impatient hand to stop me from continuing, and turned to Ace.

"Oh, are you an instructor here now?" Harris asked him in a teasing voice, his baton under an arm.

"Apparently I'm more of one than you are," Ace shot back coolly. This comment enraged Harris.

"If it were up to me," Harris growled, "you wouldn't be able to come within 500 yards of this campus without being arrested. You have no right being here."

"It's the mayor's choice," Ace replied, "and anyone is eligible—even me."

"Eligible my ass. As you're well-aware, _mayors_ are not exactly trustworthy."

I listened to the conversation, utterly confused. Apparently these two had a past.

"That goes for cops too, _mole_," Ace shot back, eyes narrowed. "Or do you need Lassard to remind you again?"

Harris's face was pure poison. He lifted his baton in the air, his face darkening, knuckles white as he held his choice of weapon.

"Why I oughta—"

"Let me take care of this," Callahan suddenly butted in, pushing Harris and Ace out of my little shooting cubicle and standing beside me. Eventually she explained the shooting process well enough that I hit the target—though not exactly where I had been aiming. Gut shots were good, right?

* * *

Of course I was now dying to know what Ace was talking about. After I was done shooting and had gone to the back of the line, Ace was standing there, a knowing look on his face.

"What were you talking about with Harris being a mole?" I asked him quietly.

"You hadn't heard?" he replied with astonishment. "Six or seven years ago there was a gang committing all kinds of robberies in Harris's precinct. No one could catch them because it seemed they were being tipped off ahead of time. Turns out, Harris himself was the mole. He revealed every step of his department's plans to the mastermind of the operation—the mayor.*"

He watched me carefully as he finished up, and smiled when I looked surprised.

"I honestly hadn't heard about all that, but now that you mention it, I do remember a bit about Mayor Thompson's involvement in a scandal."

"That was the very one," he said matter-of-factly in his New Englander accent. "Harris is incompetent but since he's captain of his precinct, all the commissioner can do is shift him around and try to keep him away from the real jobs so he doesn't screw things up."

As Ace finished his tirade, Norris, who was standing in front of us, turned around, a look of interest on his face.

"How do you know all this, buddy?" he asked Ace. Ace didn't skip a beat, already prepared for the question.

"Let's just say that while you were praying for your first pubic hairs to grow, I was reading _The Daily Metropolitan _that I subscribed to with my weekly paycheck."

"I _thought_ that was you, Dad," Norris shot sarcastically, alluding to the rather sizable age gap between him and the decades-older man. "If you already have a job, what are you doing here?"

"I know you're trying to be funny, kid," Ace replied, totally unfazed, "but to be funny you first gotta be taken seriously."

"What are you talking about?" Norris said, his face twisted with confusion. While he stood there blinking in the sun waiting for Ace to reply, Ace looked around the line that had formed by the target range. Revolvers shot off in a continual barrage, their firings echoing against the hillside. Behind us was a flat parking lot where the blue police academy buses parked, and there was a fire hydrant about twenty or so feet behind the firing range. Screwed onto the fire hydrant was a hose that ran across the parking lot towards the police academy pool. I wondered if the fire hydrant water was currently being used to fill the pool, as summer was just beginning. I couldn't know by sound alone; the constant gunfire against the hillside made any kind of splashing sound impossible to hear.

"You're an amateur, that's what I'm saying," Ace remarked to Norris. At this, Ace turned to face me again.

"It seems like Harris has something against you," I said to Ace. "How do you know him?"

Ace cracked a smile before responding.

"Back when all those robberies were going on in Harris's precinct, my fur shop was robbed," he said matter-of-factly.

"That explains why _you_ don't like him, but why does he—"

"I wasn't finished," he cut in. "That day—Harris was on stakeout—right in front of the damn building. He claimed to have missed seeing the robbery and the guys got away with just about everything. I never got my inventory back and had to close my business a month or two later. I think he was in on it. I mean, how can a police captain be _that_ useless without some underlying motive for it? After the robbery, he actually had the gall to keep a piece of fur on the antenna of his car—a $100 fox tail from my shop."

"Huh."

"Anyway, when I approached him about the robbery and grabbed that fur off of his antenna, he arrested me for a whole slew of bogus charges. He did it just to save face, making me look like an asshole in the process, an asshole who deserved to have his store robbed. Needless to say, I was out of business about a week after that. I lost everything."

Wow. So Harris was always trying to capitalize on other people's misfortunes. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised, being as I had personally watched him attempt to discredit Lassard and Cadet Wayne in an attempt to make himself look better. Not only that, but he had lied to Sergeant Hooks and had had messy run-ins with both Tackleberry and Jones. No wonder everyone hated him!

"What do you mean, I'm an amateur?" Norris suddenly blurted, having been stuck on that thought while Ace was explaining to me his past with Harris. Bordeaux had also turned around by this point but was simply listening to the exchange. Ace turned to him with a mischievous grin, the anger over his telling me of his past misfortunes now dissipated.

"You got this mouth that yaps and yaps but you got no way of makin' things happen," Ace answered.

"You don't know me—" Norris began, but was cut off.

"You got no balls, kiddo. News gets around. Your pranks aren't impressing nobody."

Now Bordeaux and Beaner were facing towards the conversation and had heard the last part. Now Norris had something to prove. I wondered if Ace and Brookstone's conversation involved her telling him about Norris. It was certainly possible, being that Ace wasn't in our squadron yet knew Norris's business.

"What are you talking about?" Norris challenged. "Just yesterday I had Beaner here lay a tack on Harris's chair while he—"

"Like I said, you're an amateur," Ace repeated, his arms crossed in front of him. "That's grade school stuff. Remember that prank yesterday on Harris—the PA? Now _that_ was a prime prank."

"It was," Norris replied, "but if the officer's walkie-talkie hadn't then gone off, he would've been in deep sh—"

"That wasn't his walkie-talkie," Ace interrupted. "The guy's a born mimic."

My jaw dropped. I hadn't even considered that Jones had also imitated the sound of walkie-talkie static. It _was_ a very convenient time to receive a radio transmission. And besides, none of the other officers at the officer's table had received the transmissions. First the dog sounds, then the shattering glass, and now the walkie-talkie static. Jones's ability to imitate noises was uncanny. It all made complete sense.

"And how would you know that?" Norris replied in a voice of disbelief. "He's not your squadron leader."

"Trust me," Ace responded confidently. "My buddy Flash—he knows all about it—lost a fight because of Sgt. Jones and his noises.*"

"Just 'cause you know a guy who knows a good prankster doesn't make you one," Norris muttered in a rather stupid tone.

"I've played all sorts of pranks on people—exploding cigars, disappearing money, you name it. I can even make priceless crap disappear from armored trucks Houdini-style… if I wanted to. You, on the other hand, got a mouth but nothing to back it up."

"You don't know me. You're in another squadron—you don't even—"

"News gets around, kid. You got your little inner circle here, but to really impress the chicks, you gotta do something no one else will do. Put your neck on the line, you know? This juvenile stuff doesn't fly with chicks like Brookstone."

Beaner and Bordeaux tried to chuckle nervously, but Norris flashed them a look of irritation and they quieted down. Now Norris was getting a bit fed up. The class clown was not supposed to be picked on. He put his finger in Ace's face.

"When did you talk to Brookstone?" Norris looked confused for a second, and then apparently he remembered the two of them talking in the cafeteria, for he now looked angry. "Screw you, bud—"

"You wanna pull a prank on Harris—a good one?" Ace suddenly offered. "Prove to me that you got balls?"

"Why not?"

"I got a real good idea if you want to get Harris and call yourself a man of action. You any good with a gun?"

* * *

_*this, as well as most of the backstory here, is from PA6_

_By the way, if you'd take the time to leave some feedback, I'd really appreciate it! Proctor's in the next chapters!  
_


	15. PROCTORRRRR

**A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback! I really really appreciate it! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, which has lots of Proctor! It's also a very long chapter! **

* * *

When the line had almost reached me again, Ace suddenly cut in front of me so that he was directly behind Norris. He very quietly discussed something with Norris and I found myself a bit alarmed when I watched Norris's face go from pink to red to white, his eyes becoming wider and wider, head wagging with disbelief and fear. Apparently this 'prank' had to do with a gun. Was Ace planning on getting Norris to shoot Harris? He did have a legitimate beef against Harris, but where was he going with this? Even so, I figured Ace to be a reasonable guy. He didn't seem to fly off the handle like Harris was prone to do.

After they'd finished talking, I watched Ace pat Norris reassuringly on the back, but Norris's face was still rather pale.

"I'm the best," Ace muttered to Norris just loud enough for me to hear. "I'll know exactly when."

Ace flashed me a look of extreme confidence and I could only give him a half-hearted smile back. _Watch this_, he mouthed.

I bit my bottom lip as I watched Ace step into the shooting area directly beside Norris's, which was several yards to the side of the line of waiting cadets. Each of them took bullets from Captain Callahan and loaded their revolvers. I scanned the shooting range area. Captain Harris was strolling back and forth behind the cadets, occasionally making some snide comment to the shooters, I presumed, because after his mouth moved the shooters would flash him a look of embarrassment on their way to the back of the line.

Ace leaned against the post separating his shooting box from Norris's, his elbow planted to the spot, putting his gun down on the floor next to him as he looked the opposite way of the target range. As he stood there, he whispered into Norris's ear, scanning the vicinity as he did so. My eye was drawn to Norris's gun, which he fumbled with as he turned it backwards. I watched him put his index finger against the trigger of the gun as he moved the weapon to his side, holding it firmly against his hip. The barrel of the gun was now facing directly behind him, aiming at nothing in particular—there were no cadets or vehicles behind Norris's shooting box.

Just then I saw Captain Harris realize that Ace was at the shooting box again, and he angrily strode towards Ace's shooting box. My voice caught in my throat.

Ace was still whispering to Norris at this point and looking behind him as if sizing something up. He was probably calculating Captain Harris's height to determine what part of his body would be hit by Norris's bullet. It seemed likely to me that it would be a gut shot. Just the thought of it turned my stomach.

Harris was steps away from Norris's shooting box. Ace was now staring confidently behind him, not bothering to look towards the shooting range. Harris opened his mouth to speak, whipping his baton out from under his arm.

"Why are you holding up my line?" he drawled, swinging his baton in Ace's face. Ace didn't so much as flinch, continuing to stare past Harris.

"What the hell are you looking at?" Harris added with narrowed eyes, turning his head to look towards the parking lot. The lack of anything there failed to satisfy him and he continued to wave his baton in front of Ace's face in an attempt to get his attention.

Just then Ace, without turning his head, flashed me a knowing smile. I couldn't let him do this. He seemed like a decent sort of guy on the verge of making a big mistake.

Though another shooting box had opened up at the other end of the shooting range, I went the other way.

"Captain Harris," I said, walking quickly towards him and pulling my ear muffs down around my neck. "I have a question about this gun—"

"Don't interrupt me, Carnegie," he shot back, taking a step back but still glaring at Ace. "Can't you see I'm busy?" One more step and he'd be in line with Norris's gun…. Waving that stupid baton again, he took another step back. Oh God.

"Can you show me how to shoot it? I'm not good at this shooting thing," I told him, fumbling awkwardly with my revolver. I stole a quick glance at Ace, who was flashing me one of the biggest smiles in the world, one with a great deal of self-satisfaction in it. I couldn't help but frown with confusion.

"What are you tryin' to pull?" Harris blurted, seeing my brief diversion of attention. "I know you'd rather have this sleazeball teach you," he added, indicating Ace with his baton.

"No, Captain Harris," I said. My mind screamed to get him out of the way. Without thinking, I reached out my gun-less hand and grabbed Harris by the crook of the arm, pulling him toward me.

"Get your hands off me," Harris said with a sneer, planting himself on the spot. Gunshots echoed off the hillside, making it hard to hear what he was saying. "What do you think you're doing, grabbing me like—"

"Come on," I interrupted, planting my foot as I again gripped his arm, pulling him towards me. This time he staggered two steps towards me before regaining his footing. His eyes were practically bugging out of his head at my unexpected move.

Just then I watched Ace turn around casually simultaneously with the metallic ricochet of a bullet from somewhere behind the shooting range. Though I didn't want Harris to see me looking at the two 'pranksters,' I just had to know what had happened. I soon found out.

I heard an odd, high-pitched yowling sound and immediately looked at Harris. He had made the strange sound, a sound indicative of someone landing on a spiny cactus.

"What the hell?" Harris murmured as he reached a hand behind him, gaping down at his pants as he did so. A dark fluid was seeping down his pants, soaking his shoes in the process.

Just then Norris flipped around his gun and looked at Captain Harris with a big smile on his face. Most of the cadets in the line were now laughing. It made no sense. I figured Norris to be the kind of guy who would be mortified to actually cause harm to another human being. I glanced towards Ace, who casually picked up his gun and aimed it at the target on the shooting range. After he hit the target, he turned around and began laughing as well. A soaking wet Harris sidestepped, revealing a jet of water that had been aimed right below his waistline. Ace had lined up Norris to shoot a hole in the fire hydrant hose!

Harris's eyes were like poison—poison which he directed at me and me alone. I was flabbergasted by this turn of events. I glanced nervously over at Ace, who looked strangely impressed, though I couldn't understand why. Norris was busy gloating from the prank, specifically to his stooges Beaner, Bordeaux, and Alberts, though he now looked towards Ace with a kind of gratitude. Brookstone was staring at him all starry-eyed and smiling. Another prank like this from Norris and he'd have her in the palm of his hand. He certainly hadn't won me over with this so-called prank.

Everyone on the firing range including Captain Callahan, Lieutenant Hightower and Sergeant Hooks was laughing—everyone except Captain Harris and me. Harris's pants were completely soaked and he was too busy staring me down to notice the unabashed laughter from the class.

Fenster stepped out from the line, pointing at the soaked man on the firing range.

"Captain Harris, your pants are wet," he stated very clearly, to another burst of laughter. I'm sure he hadn't meant to be funny, being as he was overly conscientious—the captain obvious type.

"Oh, yuh think?" Harris shot back, rolling his eyes. Fenster was not finished.

"You're going to have to change into a dry pair—"

"That's _it_!" Harris suddenly exclaimed, his voice shrill and face red, fists clenched at his sides. He turned his attention from Fenster to look over at Norris, whose smile did not falter, and Ace, who gave him a knowing half-grin. "You three," he stammered, pointing vehemently at Norris, then at Ace, then at me. "You've just pulled your last prank!" he yelled, his eyes darting between me and the two guys.

The smile and color immediately disappeared from Norris's face, but Ace didn't seem fazed by Captain Harris's outburst. I rolled my eyes.

The smatterings of gunfire remaining after the prank had been revealed completely stopped, and only laughter could be heard on the shooting range. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hightower stride towards us with urgency. Before Harris could say another word, Hightower had stuck his arm in between us and pushed Harris back. In doing so, he pushed Harris right back in line with the jet streaming out of the fire hose. Hooks stood behind Hightower, glancing down at her watch as Harris attempted to slide around Hightower, which didn't work and only made his pants wetter.

Hooks attempted to quiet the crowd with her meek voice. Without a megaphone it was impossible.

"Please be quiet," she muttered from a position very close to me, the only reason I could hear her. "Please return to the campus after depositing your guns here. You have to be quiet and listen… please, everyone!" she murmured, to no avail. It was then that Hightower took over the commanding.

"Cadets, you are to assemble in front of the main campus building in 10 minutes," Hightower told us in his calm voice, looking down at the wristwatch on his beefy arm. Laughter echoed back at the sight of Harris unsuccessfully trying to squeeze past Hightower's bulk.

"That's enough," Hightower cautioned. He pointed in the direction of the campus. "Remove the bullets from your revolvers, deposit your revolvers with Captain Callahan, and return to campus now."

Smatterings of laughter were still ringing out here and there.

"Now!" Hightower boomed, turning towards the class in a very intimidating manner, his biceps swelling up like balloons under his shirt sleeves. Everyone, even Harris, was silent now. Cadets unloaded their guns and placed them in a container Captain Callahan held as she walked around emotionlessly in her sunglasses.

I made a move to leave, and though I felt Harris's arm shoot out and grab my wrist, I yanked it away easily. I had no bullet in my revolver and so as soon as I saw Captain Callahan, I left my gun with her and walked off as quickly as possible with a mass of other recruits, leaving Harris in my wake.

"You haven't heard the last of this!" I heard Harris exclaim as I strode off towards campus, suddenly very happy that Hightower had come to my rescue with his quiet strength. Though I wasn't one to normally pray, I murmured a short one under my breath that I could get off campus before Harris could talk to me. If I could escape now, he'd surely forget about this whole thing after the weekend was through….

* * *

While our squadron fell into formation looking very formal and military-esque, I saw the other squadrons lining up in much the same way, all facing the main entrance to the campus with its circular Police Academy floral arrangement. It was like I was part of some kind of exclusive military academy, and for a moment I felt pretty good about myself. I kept a keen look out for Harris, who in his soaked state would hopefully vouch to change his pants before he would join the squadron.

As Ace strode towards the _cul de sac_ around which we were assembling, I could see that he was surrounded by a group of younger cadets including Norris, who seemed to be proud that they could walk beside such a guy. Obviously they were all bound by their mutual dislike of Harris, who was following behind them moving along in a silly bow-legged way, his water-logged pants sloshing around like some kind of heavy leather chaps.

Before Harris was able to reach the cadet formations, we saw Commandant Lassard exiting the building in his regal uniform, giving the cadets a little wave before stopping roughly in the center of the four squadrons.

"I just wanted to let you all know how very, very pleased I am with the class this year," his voice boomed cheerfully, his smile evident even from where I was standing. He really was a very pleasant, even-mannered man. "As you're probably all aware, your weekends are free for any activity you choose to do. However, I strongly discourage your doing anything illegal—you are now officers-in-training, and you certainly don't want your actions to reflect poorly on this academy… and certainly not on yourselves. I will see you all on Sunday evening! You are officially dismissed!"

Norris was one of the first recruits in our squadron to move from his position, and I could hear cheers as many recruits ran back up the stairs into the building to gather their stuff and leave. Lassard turned around and marched back up the stairs as well, surrounded on all sides by excited recruits.

I then noticed the instructors of the other squadrons making their way through the cadets. Lieutenant Hightower was easy to pick out, for he stood a good foot taller than everyone else. I was not able to spot his co-instructor Hooks, who had been apparently buried by the crowd. Captain Tackleberry strode beside Sgt. Jones as the taller captain kept his hands on his sidearm as if to protect his guns from being stolen. I wasn't certain who the man beside Tackleberry was, but then I heard a familiar voice cutting through the crowd, a choked sort of growl as several male recruits from our squadron were shoved forcefully aside by some unknown person.

"There you are, Jones!" Harris shouted over the noise of the crowd from somewhere behind me. "You and me need to have a little chat!" It was then that the slender man walking with Tackleberry turned around in alarm, widening his eyes in an exaggerated way, making some kind of realistic alarm sound. Again he was mimicking a sound perfectly. Jones smartly kept moving, staying beside the burly Tackleberry all the while, as if keeping his own personal bodyguard. I could've sworn I then heard a sound much like Fred Flintstone's feet accelerating under the Flintstone family car, as Jones retreated….

I felt a hard shove and soon I was pushed aside as Captain Harris emerged next to me, his eyes still focused on the retreating officer. Once it was clear Jones was unreachable, Harris then glanced down irritably at his wristwatch.

"Don't think you're getting off scot-free," he hissed. "You're just lucky I'm running late." With that he gave me one final glare. He continued to shove through the crowd, moving quite slowly even though he was determined. I then saw Mullers pop up beside me, having used Harris's path of destruction to make her way through the crowd.

"Hey, Carnegie," she said. "You still need a ride to the party?"

"Yeah," I replied, remembering that I needed to find Stiner. I was depending on her for a ride. This whole last name thing was getting on my nerves. My last name was something I found embarrassing, to be honest. The fact that I was here at cop school at age thirty-four, not having done a thing with my life, all while my last name suggested a kind of wealthy, influential role for me in society, made me ashamed. I would be glad to be called April again, rather than this pseudo-masculine way I was being addressed at the academy.

Though Captain Harris was in hot pursuit of Jones and several yards in front of me, he shot me a suspicious glance as he successfully shoved his way through the final recruits blocking his path.

"We're all gonna meet up outside in a couple of minutes," Mullers explained. "Make sure to change your clothes. Wouldn't want to be caught doing something illegal in our uniforms, eh?" she said with a laugh, elbowing me.

I wasn't in the hugest hurry to get into that stiflingly hot building, only to stand in the packed hallways in a sea of recruits. Rather than run with the stampede, I decided to take a detour to the side entrance.

As I struggled through the crowd, I heard the recruits talking to each other about how far their squadron had gotten in basic training. Obviously Captain Tackleberry's squadron spent most of their time on the firing range shooting a range of semi-automatic and automatic weapons. That's why it had taken us days just to get in an empty timeslot for the range. Sgt. Hooks's and Lt. Hightower's squadron was learning the technique of stealth and using brute force all of a sudden to stun and overwhelm the suspect. Sgt. Jones apparently was famous for being an expert in martial arts and seemed to be the most universally-liked squadron leader. The only positive thing about my squadron that I heard from our members came from guys bragging to their outsider friends how 'hot' Captain Callahan was. I'd also heard quite a lot of rumors that she'd spent the first night of the academy in Cadet Wayne's room, and that Bordeaux had been seen leaving her room every night after Wayne had left.

Confused faces watched me as I walked away from the entrance to the main building, squeezing around the smatterings of people with a polite 'excuse me'. Finally the crowd was beginning to clear out, though they were now all jammed into the building. I quickly made my way up the side set of stairs to my room, which sat at the end of the hallway there, a very accessible place.

I quickly shoved my keys into my purse and changed into what I'd been wearing when I was arrested. I'd had no time to get any other clothes from my apartment before heading to the academy and I felt like an idiot for not trying to do something about this earlier, like borrow someone else's clothes. I slipped on my pair of black leggings, oversized purple t-shirt and clogs and took off out the front entrance. Once I was outside I realized to my chagrin that I'd left my wallet in my room. Rather than push through the crowd pouring out of the main door I'd just come out of, I decided to again take the side entrance to the women's hall, which was closest to my room anyway. It had saved me a lot of time before and was a much smarter path to access my room. I jogged around the side of the building, but was stopped in my tracks by the sound of a man's voice.

"You requested me, Sir?" I heard a man's voice say. A tall man with a bouffant of curly hair was saluting someone, his back turned to me. At sight of this, I took a step back, keeping hidden around the corner of the building, yet listening intently.

"Yes, Proctor. I hadn't planned on pulling you away from the precinct office…. Now no one's there to guard my desk and my trophies. Which reminds me—I'll want a report on any and all fingerprints in that room that were made in my absence. This is of course, under the assumption that you thoroughly cleaned the office before heading here…."

"I didn't, Sir," Proctor mumbled. "It's just—they're keeping me really busy—"

"And what could be more important than obeying _my_ orders?"

Though I could not see around Proctor, I could imagine Harris shining up that damned baton of his as he spoke.

"We're actually solving cases now," Proctor replied. "And weirder yet, it's with the help of Maho—uh, ma-whole force. Uh, why are your pants all wet?"

Having changed the subject, Proctor coughed several times as if attempting to maintain a guise of casualness. I heard Harris make a sound of exasperation before replying.

"Never mind the force's weird luck _or_ my pants, Proctor. All _I_ want to know is where the cadets' party is going to be held tonight. And right now, that's all _you_ want to know."

"Okay, so where is it being held?"

"That's what you're gonna find out. Not even_ one_ of the cadets this year has potential to be my assistant like I've had in the past. You're gonna infiltrate the academy and find out where the party will be held tonight. The pissants this year I'm sure are gonna cut loose like never before! Just_ once_ in my life I want to crash their little welcome party. Is that so much to ask?"

"I don't think so…."

"That was a rhetorical question, you nincompoop!" Harris remarked. "Just keep your mouth shut and listen to them talking as they get ready to leave for the weekend! I'll be waiting here for the details! Do _not_ fail me, Proctor!"

"—But, Sir, Commissioner Hurst wants me to—"

"I don't give a rat's ass what the commissioner wants!" the other man raged. "What could be more important than this?"

"Nothing, Sir—it's just, lately we've been investigating and actually solving unsolved cases under Maho—ning County regulations…."

Proctor looked as if he knew he'd just failed a lie detector test and stood rigidly, sweat noticeably beading on the back of his neck. What was this word he kept cutting off?

"Mahoning County?" Harris sputtered. "That's not even in this state, Proctor!"

"It's in Ohio, Sir," Proctor muttered sheepishly. "Very crime-free county, I've heard, and not _just_ because of the Amish population there…."

Harris scoffed at Proctor. "Never mind the damn Amish! I'm ordering you to be my spy for the next half an hour! I am still your superior and _you_ are sitting in _my_ precinct office during my assignment waiting for my next command! Can you not tear yourself away from these stupid regulations and handle this job?"

"But what if the cadets recognize—"

"Damn it, Proctor; these are new recruits!" Harris said with exasperation. "They don't know you! If it makes you feel any better, make up a name if they ask! Got it?"

"Really, though; why are your pants wet, Sir?" I heard Proctor ask.

"_Don't_ change the subject," Harris growled in warning. "Now, get out there and get me some information!"

I couldn't hear any more voices from around the corner, and I glanced back to the front of the building. Already people were headed out in their street clothes with backpacks and purses. I saw that Stiner was already outside, and she could see me as she headed down the steps of the main building. It was such a relief to know I'd be escaping, and I took several steps in her direction.

"Carnegie, is that you?" she yelled, her voice booming across campus. I could feel my face getting hot. Surely the two men around the corner could hear Stiner's voice. She called out again.

"You going to the—"

"Yes!" I yelled back, interrupting her mid-sentence to avoid mention of the word _party_, my mouth turned in the opposite direction of the covert meeting nearby. I began striding in her direction as casually as possible, my heart thudding like a hammer in my chest all the while. I had to get away from Harris and this Proctor guy.

"You ready to go?" she called.

"Yes!" I exclaimed, instantly deciding that my wallet was not that important. "I'm ready!"

"Do you still need a ride?"

"_Get her_," I heard someone murmur quietly behind me simultaneously with Stiner asking me about a ride. Before I could even say a word, an arm draped itself around my shoulder, and I was side-by-side with the Proctor guy. I couldn't help but glare up at him.

"No," Proctor called, his voice calm and collected. "She's getting one with me."

"Who's that, Carnegie?" Stiner asked, leaning forward as if attempting to discern his face. Obviously she didn't recognize the guy. "Is that that Ace guy?"

Proctor did sort of resemble Ace in a tall, puffy-haired kind of way—but he was younger and better-looking than Ace. Certainly Stiner's suspicion that this man was Ace came from her having seen Ace running alongside me on the obstacle course and from our close proximity on the firing range. Being as this Proctor guy was wearing a police uniform virtually indistinguishable from the dress uniforms us cadets were currently wearing, there was no way to tell that he wasn't a cadet.

"No, it's Proctor," I blurted. She just stood there with an empty look on her face. Damn it. Obviously she didn't recognize the name. I continued. "I still need a—"

"See you at the party!" Proctor yelled out, giving Stiner a big, friendly wave. "Where is it again?"

It was clear that Stiner was uncomfortable talking about the party in such loud, campus-wide yells. She glanced around self-consciously.

"Ask Carnegie. She knows," she replied with a shrug. "See you soon, then!"

So now I was going to have to be some kind of gossip in order to get to the party. I cursed myself for being carless. And now I'd have to face Captain Harris for the earlier incident. Again I was going to be accused of something I didn't do!


	16. Party Crashers

As Stiner left my field of vision, Proctor pulled me around the corner so that I was face-to-face with an evilly grinning Captain Harris.

"Why me?" I blurted, irritated as hell.

"You think you're gonna spy on me and get away with it, Carnegie?" he said with a sneer, his baton tucked under an arm, chin higher than usual. "As if I'd let you wander all over campus warning the recruits about Lieutenant Proctor."

With that, Harris walked up to the taller curly-haired man. "Now, was that so hard?" he asked his minion. Proctor could only shake his head exaggeratingly, murmuring a polite _no Sir_.

Now Harris was probably less than a foot away from me. I could feel his hot breath on my face as he stood before me grinning like he'd just gotten away with murder.

It was then that I thought of a great plan. I'd simply tell them the wrong location while we stood here so they'd let me go and I could get a legitimate ride to the party afterwards!

"So," I began, "you want to know where the party—"

"I've fallen for that ruse too many times now to be duped again," Harris drawled. "You're either gonna take us to the party or you're gonna miss the party. It's your call."

"What do you mean?" I replied, narrowing my eyes. Did he actually believe he was going to drive me off campus again as he had the night before last? It wasn't going to look very good or very professional, at that.

"Sir," Proctor interrupted, "now that you have your—your assistant, I really need to report back to the Captain after finding…."

His voice cut off abruptly without finishing the sentence, even though Harris did not interrupt him. As he clipped his own sentence off, he looked like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.

Harris rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"_I'm _the captain; you report to _me_," Harris corrected. "What's your problem, anyway? You're sweating like a pig, Proctor."

"Of course you are, Sir… by Captain I uh, meant the _Cap'n Crunch_ I left sitting on my desk… It's probably soggy by now."

Harris still wasn't satisfied, as obvious by his cocked eyebrow.

"Now what are you in the process of finding, for your _Cap'n Crunch_?"

It was odd that Harris hadn't followed up on the "Maho—" cutoffs done by Proctor, and yet he was following up on this. I looked at Proctor, who seemed troubled and deep in thought. He took several seconds to think before speaking. He gave Harris a big smile.

"A spoon, Sir."

Harris rolled his eyes.

"I got a better idea. You spend your time _finding_ fingerprints on my stuff. Got it, Proctor?"

The curly-haired man immediately shook his head.

"I can't, because your office is being used for his… I mean, it's being fumigated… There's a big mouse problem in the precinct office…."

"Maybe it's from you leaving your cereal out on your desk the whole damn day," Harris said with a scoff.

"Uh, right, Sir." With that, a confused Proctor saluted Captain Harris.

"You can go," Harris replied, his voice low. "But be on call." Proctor took off in a jog for the parking lot. After slowly shaking his head at the retreating man, Harris turned to me.

"That's the last time you screw with me," Harris said, using a hand to shake out his water-logged pants, "You know, in all my years working here, I've never had such an insolent, disrespectful female cadet—"

"I was trying to help you back there!" I interrupted. "I had nothing to do with the—"

"Oh, right," he replied dryly, putting his hands on his hips. "Tell me—if you had nothing to do with it, how then could you know that what you were doing was helping me?"

Being as Norris and Ace obviously hadn't bothered to convince Harris to leave me out of what had happened, I felt no loyalty to them. I needed to clear this bad blood up between me and Harris; damn it, I had a weekend to enjoy.

"When I saw Norris turn his gun around, I thought he was going to shoot you. I was trying to get you out of the way."

"Norris—shooting _me_? Bullshit. That's impossible because he's _just like_ _you_, Carnegie—all talk and no action."

"It's true!" I exclaimed, throwing up my arms. How could I convince him that I wasn't some kind of criminal?

"Norris has no reason to want to get kicked out of the academy," Harris muttered. "He's a loser, a valet parking guy downtown. He wouldn't risk it."

"But Ace would," I added. "He put him up to it. He was whispering in his ear right before you came over."

Just then Captain Harris's expression changed to that of interest.

"Now, I can believe that. I don't know how the hell a criminal like him gets to attend a police academy, but—"

"Criminal?" I spat. "I think he always meant for Norris to hit the fire hose—that wasn't the smartest thing to do, but he's no criminal."

"Do you have any idea what the hell you're talking about?" Harris growled, clutching the baton with white knuckles.

"He told me what happened between you and him several years ago," I replied in a quiet voice. "I know why you don't get along…."

"He told you what happened and you still side with him?" he remarked, disbelief in his tone. "Damn, I really scraped the bottom of the morality barrel with you. Should've left you in that cell to rot."

"What are you talking about?" I shot back, offended by his brazen comments. "He lost everything. He went out of business! He said it was _you_ who let his shop get robbed during a stakeout!"

"_His_ shop? Wait a second there. You got it all wrong," he clarified, eyebrows raised. "I should've figured someone of his moral standing would've switched around the story to gain favor with you brainless sheep," he said with an indignant scoff. "Have you seriously not heard of the Wilson Heights Gang?"

"Captain Harris!" a voice called out.

I jumped in place at the sudden yell. Harris was distracted and turned to face the voice. It was Lieutenant Proctor again, his face earnest as he approached his superior from the parking lot.

"What is it, Proctor?" Harris growled, obviously irritated.

"The Commissioner wanted me to tell you something," he explained to Harris, continuing to approach us as he wrung his hands. "He, uh, thinks you're doing such a good job here that you should take the weekends off, just like the cadets."

"What are you talking about?" Harris shot, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Next weekend I am supposed to work at the precinct office on that burglary-homicide case."

"It's been solved, Sir," Proctor stated, giving him a big smile.

"Oh, is that so?" Harris said, crossing his arms. "Well, who did it?"

Proctor stumbled, his eyes betraying any kind of confidence he was trying to portray.

"Well—the burglar's name is Bernie…. Bernice Rhodenbarr. She's not going to be charged, though, because she's testifying in exchange for immunity. The murderer's name is Carson Verrill—*"

Harris stopped him with a sharp baton tap to his chest. The older officer now looked rather amused and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"So let me understand something; I'm expected to believe that you incompetents solved that case in a week and a half."

"Yes, Sir!" Proctor said, straightening his posture as if he'd just received the Medal of Honor. "We caught her with the help of Maho—uh, my whole force! Now you can rest easy and enjoy your weekends! Isn't that great?"

"No one is going to tell me what to do with my weekends. Do you understand me, Proctor?"

"Of course, but—"

"_No_ buts," Harris cut in.

"Speaking of butts," Proctor said, the look of wide-eyed wonder never leaving his face, "why are your pants all wet, Sir?"

Eyes widening with anger, Harris bared his teeth and lifted his baton to strike the persistent man. Needless to say, Proctor never got his answer and he retreated back to the parking lot with a pathetic little salute.

* * *

I held my breath, hoping that Harris would chase down Proctor and demand to know more about why his precinct was attempting to keep him away, but he dropped the subject and turned to face me. With a subtle motion he pointed towards the parking lot, indicating that we were going for a ride.

"I need to go to my room," I blurted, taking a couple of steps towards the women's hall.

"No you don't," Harris said, grabbing my arm and yanking me towards him. "You're coming with me."

"But I need to get my wallet," I replied, instinctively jerking my arm away.

"What for?" he sneered. "I'm guessing there's no money in it, so why bother?"

I rolled my eyes, unable to say anything.

"You don't have an ounce of respect for authority, do you?" he said, suddenly stone-cold serious. I blanched. Where was he going with this? I did_ not_ need a lecture right now.

"You're awfully bold, smarting off at me like you do. This is an _order, _Carnegie. Maybe you grew up with no rules—that would explain your piss-poor attitude—but here at the Metropolitan Police Academy, you have to_ obey_ authority. We're leaving right now."

I felt his baton across my back, pushing me towards the parking lot. "Besides," he muttered, now walking alongside me towards the lot, "it was _you_ who specifically requested a ride with me on a weekend—and so now I'm honoring that agreement and getting something out of it for myself in the meantime."

I did not make a move to resist as he directed me towards his unmarked Crown Victoria, which sat waiting in the parking lot. Even so, I had something to say in the matter.

"….Yeah, but it's with the wrong car," I mumbled. In the midst of unlocking the driver's side door, he froze in place, turning to look at me with his jaw slack, eyes accusatory.

"What did you just say?" he shot back, his southern drawl quite palpable now.

"It's just—I made an agreement to ride with you in the—"

"—I don't recall defining the particular car we're taking; did I?" he interrupted, his voice low yet fiery.

"No, but here it is, right here," I replied, indicating the Crown Vic.

"As my _assistant_, Carnegie, there's some incentive in it for you."

"Could you please just find another assistant?" I mumbled, rolling my eyes. "I don't want to do this."

"Don't you interrupt me while I'm talking to you," he shot back, fully irritated now, eyes narrowed at me. "As I was saying, you'll have some incentive even though you don't deserve it."

There was a pause, in which it was made obvious that he wanted me to ask what the incentive was.

"What is it?" I finally asked, after a couple of seconds of silence. It was then that I saw smugness appear on his face, his mouth forming into a self-satisfied grin. He squinted up at the sun, and then looked back at me, a ghost of a smile remaining on his face.

"We'll be taking the Corvette."

* * *

"I don't get why you need me here," I huffed as Harris backed his car out of the parking lot. He had taken out some kind of jacket from the trunk of the car and had to sit on it to avoid getting his car seat soaking wet. The bulk of the fabric underneath him made him sit a good deal higher than usual. "You could just follow a car that's full of cadets; that'll get you to the party."

"You think I haven't tried that before?" he said with a scoff. "I never directly involve myself in this—I usually pick a couple of enthusiastic cadets to be my eyes and ears at the party."

"I can do that," I said. "You don't have to drive me there."

"_Then_ what, huh? I never get contacted. It's always the same damn story come Monday: _the party was uneventful; there was dancing."_

"Maybe that's how it is, Captain Harris. We _are_ police-in-training, after all," I replied.

"Ha. This year, you all are an embarrassment to the uniform."

"Well, it was you who offered me a spot," I pointed out. He rolled his eyes.

"I had nothing to do with the recruitment of the other twenty-nine cadets in the squadron," he shot back. "You and your incompetence only make up _three point three_ percent of my squadron."

Within a minute or two he had turned onto the highway and was headed in the direction of his house, I supposed. Even so, I would be shocked if he actually honored the agreement he'd made with me and switched cars.

"What do you plan on doing at the party?" I asked, wishing he'd just switch on the radio so there wasn't this tense silence between us.

"Watching—and waiting for one of you little pissants to get out of line to ensure that the academy is still held in the highest regard."

"What do you mean?"

"Just like I said: those cadets that make a bad example of the Metropolitan Police Academy will be as good as gone."

I couldn't help but frown. What did he care, anyway? It was obvious he hated Lassard so why would he want to make Lassard's academy look good? My question was answered when he continued explaining.

"One day _I_ will be commandant of the academy and when I am, I don't want to spend all my time attempting to _restore_ its reputation. I'd rather it remain intact."

So in the midst of all that drinking, dancing, and debauchery, Captain Harris figured he'd bust onto the scene and expel some drunken cadets? What a laugh. After his standoff with the commandant the other day, he was probably the second most-recognized face on campus.

"They're going to recognize you at the party, you know," I muttered, feeling smug.

"Not necessarily," he replied matter-of-factly, exaggerating his diction.

So if I wanted to go to this party, I'd be vilified right when the cadets caught sight of Harris. If he could blend in and stay out of sight, that was one thing—but he _was_ Captain Harris and he always had to make himself known. I rolled my eyes, realizing my night of letting loose was over before it had even begun. Was there some way I could distract Captain Harris away from this?

I then remembered what Proctor had been saying about the goings-on in Harris's department. It sounded to me like he was trying to keep something from Captain Harris about a new captain, I figured. A captain with a last name beginning with "Maho". Proctor kept cutting himself off before he'd reveal too much. It sounded like they were in the process of replacing Captain Harris with someone more competent, which would surely infuriate him. Besides that, Proctor was actively trying to convince Harris to stay away. How could I make Harris curious enough to call off this party-crashing scheme and head to his precinct office?

"So your precinct is solving cases now with someone's help," I began carefully. "What's going on?"

"Sounds to me like the whole force is working together," he muttered. "That's not news."

"It sounded to me like they've brought in a captain," I added.

"What are you talking about?" he said, taking his eyes off the road for a moment to glare at me. "Proctor would have told me that."

"He kept cutting himself off," I replied. "And he basically told you to stay away from the precinct office."

"Bullshit," he huffed. "Proctor's as loyal as they come—like a mutt with a lobotomy."

Apparently he was willing to insult even those close to him. How predictable. I pressed on.

"Can you pick up the precinct radio at the academy?"

"No, I don't have to, Carnegie; Proctor's my go-between. He's supposed to inform me of important developments. He wouldn't let me down."

"I think he did let you down," I meekly mumbled. "I bet that if you went by your precinct office, you'd notice something going on."

"I know what you're up to," he growled. "You're just trying to steer me clear of this party. Let me remind you, Carnegie; you are in training to become a police officer. And _we_ do not around gossip-mongering."

"Quite the contrary," I muttered under my breath. Harris had been completely shut out of the loop of information from his precinct, so there was _no_ gossip-mongering as far as he was concerned.

"What did you say?" he snapped, eyes full of annoyance.

"What could it hurt, driving by the office? It's probably not even five minutes from here," I asked, trying to change the subject. "At least there wouldn't be doubt then."

"There _is_ no doubt," he shot back as he pulled into the neighborhood of houses. I recognized it from two nights ago. Was he actually going to keep his word about the Corvette?

We pulled up to the driveway and he got out to open the door. Rather than beckon me into the garage, he got back in the driver's side and pulled the unmarked Crown Victoria into the garage.

A couple of seconds passed before Harris shut off the car and opened the driver's side door. I couldn't believe that he was actually serious about this.

"Stay here," he said, just before I could open my door. "Don't get out of the car." With that he unlocked the door to his house and disappeared inside.

* * *

It took only a couple minutes before Captain Harris was back. He'd changed into some kind of civilian outfit consisting of khaki shorts and a faded-out Hawaiian shirt. On his head was a wide-brimmed khaki-colored hat and a pair of sunglasses. I sighed with relief at the realization that he had presumably left his stupid baton inside the house. Even so, I was now painfully aware of the fact that I was still wearing my dowdy t-shirt and leggings, hardly the outfit for a party. Sadly, it looked like Captain Thaddeus Harris was more prepared for a party than I was.

He strode past the car quickly on his way to his diligently-covered Corvette. Very carefully he lifted the cover off of the vehicle and pulled it back slowly to keep it from dragging on the floor. As the gorgeous red sports car was revealed, he rolled up the cover, dusty side facing inward, and placed it in the trunk of the car.

I stepped out of the Crown Victoria to watch him turn around abruptly, his arms outstretched as if attempting to keep me from seeing the car.

"It's not ready yet," he muttered, glaring up at me. With that, he produced the key, then went around to the other side of the vehicle and opened the door. I heard the roar of the engine in the small space as he started the car. I took a step forward, only to watch him stand up again and move quickly to the passenger side of the car, then open the door and stand patiently beside it. This made me hesitate. Was this an act of chivalry—a reminder that there were men out there who still held doors open for women—or did he not want me to touch his car?

"Get in," he grumbled, gesturing to the passenger's seat. "And don't touch anything, you hear?"

I should have known.

* * *

_*This is from the movie Burglar also starring G.W. Bailey (AKA Captain Harris)_

_In the words of Lassard: It'd be splendid if you'd leave me some feedback! I'd appreciate it very, very much!_


	17. Corvette Conversations

**A/N: Thanks to all you readers who've been following along! And thank you for the feedback! I was on vacation last week so I wasn't able to update until today! This is a pretty long chapter, btw!  
**

* * *

My heart leapt as the car pulled out of the garage. I sat excitedly breathing in the lingering new car scent as Captain Harris got out to shut the garage door and strode back over to the car.

"Where is it?" were his first words to me upon entering the car. I was pulled from my daze.

"What?"

"Where-is-the-par-tee," he said, enunciating each syllable.

"Let me just sit here for a bit," I said, shutting my eyes. I was suddenly glad that I had worn my leggings and not jeans, for I could feel every contour of the leather seat underneath me. I let out a breath I had been holding for a couple of seconds. This car was just as heavenly as I had imagined, even though I was sitting next to a total prick.

"We better get a move on if we're going to get there sometime today," he remarked. "Now, where is it?"

I was torn. Either I could tell him where the party was and I'd get to go to the party, or I could refrain from telling him and miss it. There was always the added annoyance of walking into the party with him. Maybe I could convince him to let me walk into the party first and then he could come by. That sounded promising. I almost smiled, and then remembered. There'd be no way people would miss a red Corvette.

"Will you drop me off separately so that they won't know I led you to it?" I asked him, my voice grave.

For an instant I saw a flicker of annoyance spread across his face, but then it was gone.

"Fine," he huffed.

"Can we shake on it?" I asked, extending my hand. Maybe an official handshake would make him more likely to deliver on the agreement. Maybe he had some sense of honor that no one had ever exposed before.

"Why would I want to do that?" he asked, glaring at me suspiciously.

Ha. Of course things couldn't be easy. I took a deep breath, summoning some kind of inner courage. No way would Harris go berserk while we were inside his fancy car… right?

"Well, because when we agreed on things the other night, you didn't follow through on the being nicer to me part…."

"'Nice' is a matter of perspective," he shot. "I am as nice to you as you deserve."

I put my hand down, sighing as I did so. His elitist attitude was going to drive me crazy. Had we not been in my dream car and had we been in motion on the road, I would have felt compelled to jerk the wheel.

"But I haven't done anything wrong to you!" I blurted. "Falling on you was an _accident_! And my response to your calling me a hooker was because I was angry! I would have said the same thing to any guy calling me a hooker!"

"Well, what about today?" he muttered, looking intrigued by my confession.

"My trying to get you away from Norris was done to protect you from getting shot! I didn't know what they had planned!"

"Who put the tack on my chair then, hmm? In all your utter _selflessness_ you didn't see fit to tell me who did it?"

"I'm getting an F on that quiz anyway," I mumbled. At this admission, a smile crept across his face.

"Oh, so let me get this straight; you only help people when it benefits you."

I was offended by this statement. How dare he pass judgment on me! I had to respond to his ridiculous claim.

"What benefit was there to me keeping you from getting shot? None. It actually did the opposite. It got me in trouble. I'm not trying to embarrass you…."

My voice trailed off into a low mumble as I stared down at the floor mat. Here he was, forcing me to be a rat and yet _he_ was the one complaining about people treating him badly!

It was then that Harris fell silent for about half a minute, looking at me as if to try to read into my expression. Though he was wearing sunglasses, I could see his dark eyes lock on mine then move to my mouth and back up again. I was dead serious and apparently he was able to confirm that, because he didn't make any more snippy comments.

After a minute or so, he turned to me fully and extended a hand, steadily exhaling as he did so, his expression unreadable.

"Could you give me at least a ten minute head start before you head in to the party?" I asked, staring right at him. He narrowed his eyes at me and grunted, his hand remaining where it was. Without allowing for him to reconsider, I extended my hand and we shook on it.

"Now, where is it, Carnegie?"

I took a deep breath, assuring myself that nothing bad would come of this and that maybe Harris himself would get drunk and actually have a good time. Mullers and Stiner were expecting me there, and I didn't want to miss such a potentially exciting Friday night. Silently I prayed that they wouldn't do anything too crazy and that Harris would leave them alone.

I took a deep breath. Was I sealing my fate as the police academy rat? My shoulders involuntarily slumped as I submitted to the question.

"It's at the game lands."

* * *

Cars are definitely not all about getting from point A to point B. When in one's dream car, the trip seems so much quicker. The fact that I was sitting in a gorgeous red Corvette mentally cut the drive time to get to the game lands. If I hadn't been wearing my watch, I would've sworn it had only taken 5 minutes to get there.

During the trip I was extremely grateful that Captain Harris kept his mouth shut, lest he spoil the experience for me. I wondered how many miles we'd traveled to get to the game lands and upon glancing at his trip odometer, realized there was a measly 5 miles left in the time I'd be able to spend in this awesome car.

As we came within sight of the game lands, I glanced cautiously over at Captain Harris, who was still wearing that silly wide-brimmed hat. Thankfully he looked nothing like a cop and the hat covered his graying hair well. If he stayed in the background and didn't speak, he might just be able to stay undercover.

The last time I'd been to the game lands it had been an abandoned field littered with saplings and little pine trees. Now it was a bona fide forest, with huge towering pine trees darkening the grass-covered ground below, which looked to be kept under control with a lawn mower. I could barely see the flickers of a bonfire through the dense thicket of trees. They'd really picked a private place for the party. Harris would never have found the party had he gone searching for it on his own.

Rather than let me out of the car before we were in sight of the partying cadets, Harris zoomed right past them well above the speed limit for the unpaved road. Though we were speeding, I could see most everyone stop what they were doing and watch the Corvette as it sped past them.

"Show-off," I muttered under my breath. He turned his head sharply to look at me. Of course he had to have heard what I had said. He whipped off his sunglasses, probably half out of anger and half out of necessity; it was almost as dark as night under the trees.

"What did you just say?" he inquired menacingly, glancing over at me with narrowed eyes as he finally started to slow down.

"What if someone recognized you just now?"

He scoffed, a little grin appearing on his mouth as he shook his head.

"Why do you think I flew by them like I did?" he responded. "I have a good deal of expertise in covert operations."

"Really? What kind of operations?" I asked, attempting to sound interested. As I spoke I attempted to take in as much of the Corvette new car scent as I could. It was intoxicating, to say the least. Silence answered me; why hadn't he begun spouting off brag-worthy stories yet?

It was then that I looked over at him in the ensuing silence. Harris's mouth hung open ever so slightly, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Once he'd decided that my question wasn't a trap, he cleared his throat and began to speak.

"I've been on more stakeouts than I can remember. Hundreds."

"What kinds of stakeouts? Anything interesting?"

He looked simultaneously affronted and interested as to my sudden curiosity in the matter. I just wanted to spend more time in the car. I'd certainly be getting a ride back from someone else, and those measly few miles left in our deal were as good as gone.

"_All_ of them are interesting," he replied curtly, avoiding further explanation.

"Anything unusual? Like, getting deep undercover?"

At that, he narrowed his eyes at me suspiciously.

"What's with you?"

"I was just wondering," I said with a shrug. "That's all."

"Unusual undercover operations," he muttered to himself, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Ah. I… once posed as a window cleaner on a high-rise to spy on executives possibly tied to the Wilson Heights gang," he explained, not making eye contact with me, oddly self-conscious as he spoke. "And during my time in Russia, I… I wore… Well, let's just say I pulled out all the stops to _avoid detection_ in gaining access to a Russian ballet that Konstantine Konali was attending…"

In my head the mantra _I can own this car someday _repeated over and over again. I glanced around myself at the ruby red leather reminiscent of some high end recliner, the Corvette logo over what appeared to be a high-end CD player and logos on the floor mats. Of course, by the time I had enough money to buy a brand new Corvette model it would probably have to be from 2000 or later.

"I take it you're not afraid of heights then," I said in response to Harris, shaking my head with my teeth gritted. "Standing so high up on a rickety scaffold… egh." I never considered myself to be afraid of heights, _per se_, but I certainly wouldn't want to stand on the outside of a skyscraper with no real protection from falling.

"Damn; I _knew_ it," he said with a sneer, voice full of suspicion as he shook his head. "You've heard about it, haven't you. And now you're trying to screw with me. You almost had me there for a second, Carnegie."

The car was only coasting along now, probably about a quarter of a mile past the party. He applied the brakes slowly so as not to stir up any dust.

"No," I replied, confused by his sudden paranoia. "What are you talking about? Did something happen?"

"Ha ha. Nice try," he deadpanned, looking irritated as hell. I still didn't understand what he was talking about. This sudden rush of paranoia from him was probably put on as a way to get me out of the car. Shaking my head slowly, I let out an exasperated sigh, crossing my arms and looking out the passenger side window. My response must have unnerved him because he soon spoke again.

"Heights never bothered me," he muttered, his voice low. "But then, a hot air balloon I was riding in plummeted into a river, and then I had to fly over a thousand miles in a heap of trash passed off as a plane. Even so, I took the high-rise job. Nothing can stop me from doing my duty."

"Oh," I replied quietly, looking down instead of towards him. I hated the idea of walking into the party, everyone staring at me and realizing what'd I'd done. No other cars had driven by since we'd arrived, but this was my attempt to stall Harris to better enable that to happen. I could just claim I was in the second car and hadn't led Harris to the party. I asked yet another question of Harris, glancing out the rear view window as I did so. No cars were coming. "Well, why'd you fly in a crummy plane if you had problems with heights?"

"I didn't have a problem with heights until _after_ the plane trip, which was several years ago," he explained irritably. "I found out that it was my fellow officers who reserved that shitbox for me and Proctor on our way to Miami Beach. They're always trying to exploit the one thing they know bothers me."

"That's not right," I muttered, unsure of what to say. It was odd listening to Captain Harris speak without him berating me the entire time. It was almost like we were having a real conversation.

"Damn straight it's not," he replied, his voice picking up, as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Anyone who's had to go through what I went through would feel the same way I do about heights."

"What about Lieutenant Proctor?" I asked, remembering his mention of Proctor in the plane trip. "Is he afraid of heights too now?"

Silence answered me. Warily, I glanced over at Harris to watch him roll his eyes.

"It's not that I'm _afraid_ of heights, Carnegie," he explained, obviously annoyed at my choice of words. "It's just that my co-workers find it hilarious to get me into dangerous situations that just so happen to involve heights. Like attaching a whole slew of balloons to a chair I was sitting on and then letting me float off into space. Know how long it took to land?"

I shook my head.

"Seven hours! In a goddamn folding chair miles above the ground!"

"That's terrible," I muttered, shaking my head. "Did that really happen?"

He made a face of exasperation.

"You think I'd make something like that up? Ask any of 'em—Lassard, Callahan, Hightower, Hooks, Jones, Tackleberry…. They'd be more than glad to tell you, I'm sure. Bunch of assholes…."

At that, he stopped the car and looked over at me impatiently. It wasn't yet time, damn it! I wanted at least one car to pass by before I'd dare show my face at the party. I hesitated before grabbing the door handle, a fact that Harris noticed. I heard him chuckling under his breath, his laugh low and guttural.

As he continued to laugh quietly, I sighed with disappointment. All the fun I should have been having in the car had been sucked out of me with the realization that I was betraying my fellow cadets. And now it was over; I was never going to sit in this car again.

"Your twenty miles are up," he said, after glancing at his odometer, his face triumphant. He must've seen the not-so-thrilled look on my face, because his smile only grew as I made slow movements to prepare myself to exit the vehicle.

"Never thought I'd say this to a cadet," he began, totally amused with himself, "but you should get out of my car now and go to the party."

* * *

Wordlessly I grabbed my purse and got out of the Corvette, immediately stumbling on the uneven roadside. I turned around to shut the door and saw Captain Harris seemingly staring off into space somewhere in front of him, looking deep in thought.

"Ten minutes," I murmured, reminding him of the deal we had of arriving separately. He turned to look at me very briefly but then turned back to the front again without speaking. Rolling my eyes at his sudden weird behavior, I shut the door and started towards the party.

I had been stupid to wear my loud wooden-heeled clogs, especially to an event such as this one in the middle of the woods. Of course, I had no other choice, but I really felt like an idiot stumbling all the way to the party. If I happened to get drunk, it'd be even worse. I could just picture it now. With my rotten luck, I'd end up being the "pissant" that Harris was referring to, and I'd be summarily booted from the academy and booted from the chance to own a Corvette.

As I approached the party, choosing to walk through the well-kept grass rather than along the uneven roadside, I could smell wood-smoke and hear two different songs playing simultaneously over what had to be giant speakers. Between stumbling and watching my footing in the grass, I could see a large bonfire in the center of a small clearing and people moving back and forth in front of the fire, some walking, some dancing, some stumbling. It was packed with cadets.

Before I'd even gotten two-thirds of the way to the party, I noticed Ace Graham leaning up against a tree smoking a cigarette, apparently keeping his distance from the other cadets. I hadn't even said hello before he'd begun approaching me, throwing his cigarette down and grinding it into the grass with the heel of his cowboy-like boot.

"Been waiting for you to get here. That yours?" he indicated, a knowing grin on his face.

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling instant panic, yet flattered by his interest in me. I hadn't thought about how to explain how I'd gotten to the party. I guess I could have blamed Proctor, but it seemed that Ace would recognize that name, being as he'd been acquainted with Harris before. I was still pretty pissed at Ace for letting me take the fall for his shooting-range prank on Harris. He hadn't yet attempted to apologize for that or try to clear my name. I crossed my arms, readjusting my purse on my shoulder.

"The Corvette," he said, pointing towards the road with his thumb.

I was trapped. Expertise in covert operations, my ass.

"Oh," I said, feeling oddly dizzy. "Why do you ask?" It was a simple question that I hadn't yet answered.

"Because only five minutes ago it went by and now here you are," he replied. I could feel my face heat up as I fidgeted. It figured—he was calling me out on the exact thing that I had wanted to avoid. He looked mildly annoyed and tapped his foot on the ground while waiting for my answer.

"So?" I replied.

"Nothing else went by," he added, looking expectantly at me. Damn. There really was no way I could explain myself. Rather than focusing all my efforts on stalling Harris, I should have been thinking up excuses as to how exactly I'd gotten to the party.

"I walked from my car, which was parked further away."

"In those shoes?" he said, his eyes widening in disbelief. Of course my stupid clogs would have been impossible to walk any distance in. When he looked back at me, he was grinning unabashedly. "Liar."

"I'm telling the truth."

"RuPaul couldn't even walk in those shoes," he retorted, staring down disdainfully at my awkward-looking clogs. I rolled my eyes.

"Fine. You got me," I muttered, feeling defeated. I hoped my little white lie would get him to quiet down about what he'd seen, and prayed for another car to go by before Harris's arrival so that no one else would try to make the connection. Ace's face lit up exaggeratingly at my admission, like a kid in a candy store.

"How come you never mentioned the Corvette before?" he replied. In one moment he was standing next to me.

"You never asked," I shot back, glad that he hadn't implicated anyone else being in the car at the time—meaning Harris.

"Let's take it for a ride," Ace offered, putting his arm around my back. With that, he began leading me away from the other cadets, from the party.

"I didn't even get to say hello to my friends yet," I said, moving away from him and towards the bonfire. "I'd like to get a drink first and enjoy myself here."

"Ah ah ah," he said in a scolding tone, shaking a finger in my face. "No drinking and driving. Come on, babe. Just a little ride."

Ha. Now that he thought that Miss Descendent of Andrew Carnegie was rich and owned a Corvette, I was _babe_. I was too embittered to be naïve enough to assume this guy liked me just because.

"Not right now," I said insistently. "I'll let you know, okay?"

"Aw come on, how can you refuse me?" He stuck out his bottom lip for emphasis.

Ace's pleading face wasn't nearly as convincing as Harris's that night we were surrounded by cops. Maybe it was because Harris only made that face when it was absolutely required. Or maybe it was because I was still pissed at him for earlier.

"For one, you let me take the blame for that stunt on the shooting range. Why didn't you intervene when—"

"You mean, you weren't trying to help me? Looked like you were doing all you could to line Harris up just right. Couldn't have done it better myself."

"I thought you were going to have Norris shoot him. I was trying to get him out of the way."

"Babe. I am an expert marksman. I can hit anything with any gun in the blink of an eye. That prank was child's play for me."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, just about fed up with the ridiculous festering egos of Harris and now Ace.

"What? You don't believe me? Here—I'll show you."

With that, he pulled a little ivory-handled revolver from a well-hidden holster and caressed it lovingly with his free hand. There was an additional cylindrical piece on the end of the gun that didn't match the barrel. I frowned at the unusual asymmetrical look of his gun.

"What do you want me to hit?" he asked, his eyes scanning the locality for a likely target.

"Nothing right now," I said, realizing my ten minutes were trickling away. I needed to be well within the crowd before Harris showed up. Hopefully another car would drive by and make everyone believe he'd taken a different car. Ace's immediate _Corvette = my ride_ connection was scaring me a bit. If no one else drove by before Harris showed up, _they'd_ connect me to Harris as well.

"Hey, how about that lightning bug over there?" he said, pointing at a faint flicker of yellow light against the backdrop of a pine tree trunk.

"You can't shoot here," I murmured quietly. "You'll scare the daylights out of everyone at the party."

"Silencer," he said, pointing to the extension on the barrel. With that he put a finger to his smirking lips.

"Maybe later," I replied. "I better get going."

"How about this? I shoot the lightning bug; we take a spin in your Corvette."

"How are you going to prove you shot it? You're going to blow it away," I replied, indicating the tininess of the insect on the tree flickering yellow occasionally. It was barely visible from the current distance and would be impossible to target accurately. Was this some kind of joke?

"I'll shoot it while it's glowing, and you'll see the glow on the tip of the bullet," he replied coolly.

"—But the bullet will be—"

"Lodged into the tree and easily extracted. I'll show you."

I stared at him incredulously.

"You can't—"

"So is it a deal, Carnegie? A bug for a ride?" he interrupted. "How about this—unless there's a glow to the tip of the bullet, I lose. I have to shoot the bug while it's glowing. Sound fair?"

"No, it's—"

"I won't even look. If I miss, I won't ask about your car again. Agreed?"

I shook my head in disbelief. Was this guy serious?

"That's not even possible—you're not even going to look?"

"Is that a yes then?" he asked, squinting towards the tree and then back at me.

What a joke this guy was! I found myself wanting to watch his ego go down the drain at his failure. Did he honestly think he'd hit the bug while it was glowing without looking and then actually see the glow on the end of his bullet? It was impossible.

"Fine," I scoffed, realizing this could be a way to keep Ace mum forever about the car. "And if you don't hit it, you don't mention the Corvette again—to anyone."

"Agreed," he replied. He turned away from the tree and looked at me fully, a little smirk on his face. "So… is it glowing?"

I squinted as I attempted to see the bug from the sizable distance, while he continued to face away from his intended target. I could see a faint glow from the insect.

"Yeah, why?"

A lightning-fast extension of the arm simultaneously with the cocking of the weapon, and a stifled ricochet-like sound was emitted from the gun. A flurry of wood chips flew from the trunk of the pine tree. It was only then that Ace turned his head to look in the direction of the shot. The whole process had taken not even a second.

"Let's go check," he said, trotting off in that direction, tucking his gun away as he did so, a big smirk on his face. "Just so you see I'm not planting evidence."

I followed hesitantly, watching for Harris to appear through the trees. Nothing yet.

"Here's the bullet hole," Ace announced, pointing at the little hole in the bark. Before I could say anything, he pulled a pair of long forceps out of his jacket pocket and stuck them into the hole. I shook my head and rolled my eyes. Did he really think this was a fair deal? So he shot the tree; big deal. He was going to lose and I would run over to my friends before Harris could arrive. I almost smiled at the out-of-control ego of this guy. Ace's presumptuousness about his talent made Captain _Harris_ look humble.

Within moments he pulled the bullet from the tree trunk and turned the forceps over. On the end of the bullet I saw something very un-bullet-like. The corpse of the lightning bug was stuck to the bluntly smashed tip of the bullet. But was it glowing? That was part of the deal. I leaned forward to look more closely.

* * *

_Harris and Proctor plunging to earth in a hot air balloon is from PA4_

_Jones and Hightower hiring a junky plane for Harris & Proctor is from PA5_

_The tying of balloons to Harris's chair is from PA6_

_Harris posing as a window washer is from PA6  
_

_Harris going undercover at a ballet is from PA7  
_

_A/N: It'd make me very, very, very happy if you'd leave some feedback and let me know what you think!  
_


	18. Bug Eyes

The crushed abdomen of the bug steadily glowed yellow. My jaw dropped.

"So—let's go," Ace said, giving me a wide-eyed smirk as he placed the bullet in my hand. He took a step towards the location of the Corvette.

"How did you—that's impossible," I began haltingly, remaining in place. It was then that he grabbed my upper arm and began pulling me in that direction.

"We had a deal, babe," he shot back.

"Wait—what are you doing?" I remarked, attempting to stop him. He was far taller and bulkier than me and would be able to easily overpower any of my efforts to go the other way.

"Unless you can do what I just did, I'll accept the spin in your car as an even trade. What's the big deal? Come _on_, babe."

"Ace—I really can't right now…" I mumbled, trying to dig my heels into the grass. Instead, a clog fell off. "Wait—my shoe."

"We'll get it when we get back," he said, sticking out his tongue and looking suspiciously behind him. "Come on, just a quick spin around the game lands."

"I don't want to," I said, resisting his grip on my arm. "Let me go."

"Do I have to get out my gun?" he said in a low voice. I felt my heart drop into my stomach. When I found the strength to look into his eyes, he was grinning ear to ear.

"That's not funny," I remarked. "We can go later, okay? I want to get—"

"Lucky? That can be arranged," he retorted in a goofy voice.

"No," I shot. "Let me go, Ace."

It was then that something changed in Ace. Apparently this string of remarks of rejection was too much for him to bear. His grip on my arm got twice as tight. I let out a yowl of pain at the strength in his hand.

"I tried to be nice," he said with a sigh and a shake of his head. "I never got a chance to own a sweet car like that. I had the means, I had the cash, but I got put away before I could spend it."

"What do you mean, _put away_?" I asked, my face hot. I could feel my fingers numbing on the arm he was gripping.

"Are you really that dense? You got a rap sheet too, don't you?"

I blanched.

"How do you know about—"

"I got connections, babe. Informants. That how you got that car?"

"I was arrested for stealing a car—but not that one."

He scoffed.

"If you got a Corvette, why would you steal something—"

"If you know so much about me, you'd know I don't own a Corvette," I snarled, digging my shoeless heel into the grass. He hadn't anticipated that move and stumbled forward, retaining his grip on my arm even so. His eyes got wide and angry as he turned to me.

"But you just said—"

"I lied. It's not mine." I tried to yank myself away from him. "Now, let me go."

His grip remained firm. There was no smirk on his face now.

"No."

I felt panic boiling in my throat.

"What do you mean?" I murmured. "It's not my car. I can't give you a ride."

He paused for a moment, considering, his buggy eyes looking off in the distance. It was then I saw him nod to himself.

"Well, apparently you're good at stealing cars, eh? Here's the deal: either you use your key or you're gonna snip those little wires and hotwire it for me."

"No! Let me go!" I yelled as loud as I could, though the music playing back by the bonfire surely drowned it out.

It was then that I felt the cold steel silencer of Ace's gun pressed up against my cheek.

"Why you gotta make this so hard on me? Shut up," he muttered. "Just walk to the car."

"I was dropped off," I replied.

"Bullshit. It never left," he shot back. I felt a chill go down my spine as he pushed the barrel into the side of my face. "Walk."

My legs stopped moving. He continued to pull me painstakingly behind him bit by bit, as I stumbled several times with my one clog-clad and one bare foot. He stopped in place, causing me to trip yet again. A smile crept onto his face as he turned to face me, his buggy eyes staring right at me.

"Tell me this: if a gun with a silencer fires in the forest and no one can hear it, do you still die?"

A wave of nausea washed over me at the thought of that. I shut my eyes and allowed myself to begin moving again in the direction of the Corvette. I wondered if Captain Harris would be headed this way or if he had already gotten to the bonfire. He'd stashed his police uniform and his baton away, so there was probably no chance in hell he'd be armed. I was screwed.

"Please let me go," I mumbled, feeling the threat of tears though I fought them from spilling out of my eyes. "Why me?"

"Glad you asked," Ace replied with a chuckle. "You're gonna be my rich little hostage. Soon as you told me about your heritage, I knew I'd hit the jackpot. Shame a little rich bitch like you has to steal cars, though; wouldn't you say?"

I then remembered what Captain Harris had said, that I had Ace all wrong. I wished I'd followed up on what Harris was saying, but now I wouldn't get that chance. Ace had been planning this hostage situation all along. I felt my eyes welling up with tears at the thought of my stupidity. Harris, who everyone seemed to hate equally around here, was right and I was wrong.

"That's the thing: I'm not rich," I replied, my voice thick with emotion. "I know you think that my family—"

"This isn't a big deal," he cut in impatiently. "I'm gonna steal the car and get some money off your folks. No harm, no foul. Better than this police academy shit, anyway."

"Stop right there!" a voice yelled from somewhere behind us. Ace froze in place, craning his neck to the side to see the source of the voice. I turned my head as well as I could, though the gun pushed up against my face did not fall away. I saw a blur of multiple colors through the curtain of tears in my eyes, but couldn't see much else. No blue uniform, no shiny hat or boots of a cop was all I gathered from this unknown vigilante. Probably some drunken unarmed partygoer half crocked on all the booze being supplied.

"Let her go," the gruff male voice demanded. "Don't make me shoot you!"

So the man telling Ace to stop was armed. I sighed with relief.

It was then that Ace took a step around the side of me so that I was now facing the direction of the voice and he was behind me, using me as a kind of shield. The silencer pushed into my cheek didn't falter.

I blinked several times, allowing for the tears to run down my cheeks. My vision returned to me, as sharp and clear as ever. The man threatening Ace was Captain Harris!

Captain Harris stood in a small clearing, his gun drawn, wide-brimmed hat still on his head. My clog was sitting a foot or two in front of him, as if he'd dropped it when he saw us. He must've seen it lying in the grass and carried it with him until he spotted us.

"Captain Harris!" I exclaimed, a big relieved smile on my face.

"I'm taking her hostage and there's nothing you can do about it!" Ace shouted at Harris. "Back off, mole!"

"I said, let her go!" Harris demanded, impatience in his tone, gripping his gun more tightly. Hadn't Ace said a tight grip was worse? Here was an expert marksman pitted against someone I hadn't yet seen shoot anything except insults. Obviously Harris had graduated from the police academy at some point and had risen in the ranks, but could he actually operate a firearm? And even if he could, would he risk shooting Ace at my expense? What if Ace's gun then went off in my face?

"I don't wanna have to shoot you, Harris. I'm not a violent guy. I'm just gonna take her car and pay for its gas with a nice ransom from the Carnegie family. Live the American dream."

"What are you talking about?" Harris blurted. "She doesn't have a car…." His voice trailed off as he realized what Ace was referring to.

"It's a Corvette," Ace explained. "Isn't that a flashy way to crash a party? Showing off the goods?"

I watched Harris visibly flinch at the mention of his car.

"You'll get that Corvette over my dead body," Harris snarled, his gun now shaking a bit. I held my breath.

Suddenly I felt Ace's chest heave against my back. He was actually laughing.

"So it's yours, then," he remarked with a chuckle. "Well, not for long."

"I'll be the judge of that," Harris responded, taking several steps forward.

"Don't you take another step, or the girl gets some unwanted facial reconstruction."

Harris complied with Ace's request, stopping his movement forward yet keeping the gun on us.

"I just thought of something," Ace said. "Give me the keys to the Corvette—or I shoot her. Ah, decisions, decisions."

"You're not going to shoot her," Harris growled. "You have to keep her alive for a ransom."

"Is that what you're banking on?" Ace shoved an open hand out between his body and mine. "The keys, Harris. Or June here gets it. I'm leaving it up to you."

"My name is April," I growled under my breath.

"Ha," Ace deadpanned. "Only thing I care about is your _last_ name."

Ace cocked the gun with a click that resonated through my whole body. My knees felt like Jell-O and dizziness was setting in. How could the entire course of the evening have changed so dramatically in less than ten minutes?

I saw Harris flinch at the sound of the cocking weapon.

"Are you going to let her go?" he asked, his voice not quite as forceful as before.

"Once the keys are in my hand, I'll consider it."

"That's not good enough."

"Oh, isn't it? Well, you've made my decision easy. Your girlfriend dies. And then I kill you and take your keys. That works for me."

Harris screwed up his face at Ace's statement.

"She's _not_ my girlfriend," he growled, his voice guttural.

"Is that the statement you have the biggest problem with? Well, if she's not your girlfriend now, I can tell you there's no chance you two will be getting together in this life. Say goodbye."

With that, Ace moved the gun to my temple, holding my head still with his other forearm. I shut my eyes tightly, realizing that if I tried any sudden moves, the gun would fire. The lightning bug trick had made me fully aware of Ace's firearm expertise.

"Please…." I muttered, feeling some more tears stream down my cheeks.

Seconds passed like hours and I waited for that muted ricochet sound to seal my fate. So this was how it would end for me: in a forest, near a group of more than one hundred police academy cadets, by a bug-eyed creep I'd badly misread.

* * *

A/N: Thoughts? Concerns? I really love all sorts of feedback!


	19. The Shoe Is On The Other Foot

"Okay, okay!" Harris yelled. "Here's your damn keys." I heard the jangle of keys and opened my eyes. Harris was holding his gun with one hand, the other hand gripping his key ring.

"Toss it on over here," Ace said, removing his forearm from my head and holding it out in front of me.

"I need to come closer; you're too far away," Harris shouted. I watched him glance down angrily at his key ring, which he would have to give away in its entirety—his house key, the keys to the precinct, the keys to the academy. He clearly did not want to do this and yet he was doing it. He was going to trade his car for my life.

Most normal people would hand over mere belongings in a moment to save a human life. I had a feeling that material possessions, that power and influence had a lot more bearing in Harris's life. And here he was, getting ready to relinquish control of his most prized possession—in exchange for my safety. I couldn't help but feel a bit overwhelmed at the thought: _Captain Harris is going to save me_.

Before Ace could say anything more, Harris took a step forward, and then moved to take another step—right onto the clog he had dropped in front of him. He went down with a loud indistinct yell, his knees hitting the ground with a thud, his revolver leaving his hand and landing in the grass right in front of Ace and me. At the same time his hat flew off dramatically, slowly floating to the ground. It was then that I realized he was still stubbornly holding onto his keys, which he hadn't lost upon falling.

Laughter bubbled in Ace, louder and louder, until it was all I could hear and the rhythmic heaving of his belly was all I could feel. I moved my head slightly to see Ace cracking up completely, his mouth opened wide and eyes shut as he screamed with glee.

Ace moved his gun away from my head to shoot Harris's hat, which was only a second from landing on the ground, and made it spin like a top while it was still airborne. He fired three rounds at the hat in quick succession, making Harris cover his head and cringe on the ground. It was awkward to watch Harris embarrass himself in such a way.

"You crack me up, Harris!" Ace cackled, his whole body shaking with laughter as the hat spun wildly. "Some cop you are, letting go of your gun before you let go of your keys."

All the while the hat spun in the air like some kind of flying saucer, Ace laughed manically as if it was the funniest thing in the world. He clutched his knee with his gun-holding hand as he attempted to catch his breath from laughing. Just for a moment the gun wasn't aiming in a dangerous direction. Which was just long enough for me to stomp my wooden-heeled clog-clad foot into the top of his foot right where it met his leg, just like I'd been instructed to do with O'Malley by Captain Callahan during the hand-to-hand combat class. Ace let out a yell of surprise and pain at my action. Adrenaline coursed through my veins, making my body shake with a surge of energy. Unlike with O'Malley, my elbows were free to attack and so I elbowed Ace sharply in the stomach, feeling his stupid feathery hair slide down the back of my neck as he doubled over behind me, taking a step back in the process. While he was temporarily incapacitated, I leapt forward and grabbed Captain Harris's gun from the ground and stepped away from Ace, aiming it steadily at him.

Ace was too out of it to say anything about this twist of fate, standing on his undamaged foot and clutching his stomach. I held the gun on him, cocking it like I'd seen him do while he'd shot at the lightning bug yet unsure as to if it was actually ready to fire. It was a ridiculous excuse for a standoff; had Ace not been in pain, he would have easily shot me, or at the very least, disarmed me.

Suddenly Ace shook off the pain and stared at me intently, a big cocky smirk on his face.

"What do you think you're doing, Carnegie?" he asked me, his posture no longer that of an injured man. It was then he looked at the little revolver in his hand, smiled at it, and aimed it right at me. He didn't even glance down at the gun I was now aiming at him.

"Here's the deal: you can _both_ be my hostages," he said cordially. "I won't hurt ya; I just need to get out of the country with some Carnegie cash and that sweet car." With a sneer he looked down at Harris, his gun now aiming at him. "Get up."

Grumbling under his breath, Harris made his way to his feet, dusting off his knees as he stood slightly behind me, Ace's gun still aimed at him.

"Walk," Ace commanded in an impatient tone, moving his gun quickly as if to show Captain Harris which direction to go. I held my breath to see how Harris would respond.

"I'd rather not," Harris muttered, yet he took a step in the direction Ace wanted him to go.

"Is that right?" Ace replied, his smile unwavering. "Well, if you're decided on staying here, guess I'll have to get out of here some other way. I did bring a car of my own, but it's no Corvette. Ah well…."

With that, he turned around and took several steps away from us into the forest.

I watched Harris sigh with relief. I wasn't convinced. Did he really think Ace was going to forget about shooting us? Apparently Captain Harris hadn't called for backup, because besides the sound of far-off stereo music, there were no sirens or any kind of police sound. Not so much as a car drove by. If we couldn't stall him, we'd be taken hostage without a fight and possibly shot after we'd served our purpose.

"So who should I shoot first?" Ace asked us, suddenly spinning around and aiming his gun at Harris and then at me. I looked over at Harris, all the while keeping the gun aimed at Ace. He looked at me then at the gun in my hand. Surely he had to see the look of terror in my eyes.

"Eeny meeny miny moe," Ace began in a sing-song voice, the aim of his gun alternating back and forth. My voice caught in my throat before I could say a word. It offended me that he was pretending I didn't even have a gun in my hand, and yet, he could probably shoot me three times in the time it took me to pull the trigger once.

"Neither," Harris muttered. For a moment he looked surprised by his own admission. Suddenly he appeared to be overly self-conscious.

"And why's that?" Ace asked. Harris cleared his throat anxiously before explaining.

"You already have two charges of assault with a deadly weapon on you. Attempted kidnapping. That can be overlooked; forgotten, even. Once you shoot one of us it becomes attempted murder, at the very least. You'll be going away for a long time."

"Attempted murder?" he asked with a scoff. "If I want your life, I'll take it. I don't _attempt_."

I thought I saw Harris's face pale slightly, his mouth ajar but silent. Ace looked at me and at the gun in my hand, an amused grin on his face.

"Are you serious about this? Wanna guess who'll shoot first?" he asked me. "Wait—this isn't fair though, is it? I could shoot circles around you blindfolded and with both arms behind my back."

"How 'bout it?" Harris spat, regaining his voice. "That sounds like a fair fight."

"You stay out of this, _mole_," Ace retorted. "I'm talking to Carnegie here. So—is that gun ready to shoot? Does it even have bullets in it?" Now he was openly insulting me, his eyes challenging me. "Would you even know any better?"

"Probably not," I said, shrugging. I aimed to feed this guy's ego a bit and see where it took me. "I don't even know how to take the safety off."

"_Shhhh_!" Harris exclaimed. I could just picture him rolling his eyes as he stood beside me.

"See there?" Ace said, shaking his head. "I can't have a fight with an unarmed opponent."

I stared down at the gun, pretending to fiddle with it, holding it sideways on an upturned palm though I kept it aimed towards him. Ace continued to speak, his tone arrogant and mildly annoyed.

"I mean, let's face it, Carnegie, you and I both know you're no—"

I pulled the trigger. Along with the loud gunshot echoing through the trees, I heard a yell of pain and surprise from Ace, and by the way he grabbed his wound, I could see that I'd shot him in the hand. His gun flew out of his hand and landed at Harris's feet. Harris immediately grabbed Ace's gun and aimed it steadily at Ace. Now Ace was unarmed, as far as I could tell.

"You bitch!" Ace yelled at me. "You'll see—I'm gonna get you for this! Mark my words!"

"Shut it, sleazeball," Harris remarked impatiently, his confidence fully restored. "Carnegie here just saved you forty years in prison. You should be grateful."

Ace continued to moan and breathe loudly through his teeth as blood streamed out of the bullet wound somewhere on his hand. I wondered why Harris hadn't made a move to handcuff him yet, and looked over at him for feedback.

Not only was Ace practically sobbing now, but there was another sound now, too; the sound of voices approaching from a distance.

Captain Harris clearly heard the sound of approaching people as well, and looked over at me without saying a word.

"Shit—my handcuffs—they're in the car," he remarked, looking disgusted. "I better call Proctor to bring the squad car down. I'm not having that scumbag in my Corvette."

"Here come the students," I said, exhaling as I looked behind us at the approaching crowd. Harris kicked my clog towards me and looked at me as if attempting to predict my next move.

Harris hadn't exactly saved my life in the traditional sense, but if he hadn't come looking for me, I would be long gone, and if he hadn't fallen, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to fight back. Watching his expression, I slid my other clog on my foot. He glanced back at me. We stood a few feet apart, silently attempting to read the other person. It was then that I saw a rare glimpse of raw vulnerability in his eyes, as if he were entrusting me with a shameful secret.

"Please, Carnegie, no need to thank me!" Harris suddenly announced, taking a step away from me, his dramatically-spoken statement loud enough for the approaching students to hear. "I was just doing my job!" A big smug grin on his face, he held his hands out in front of him in my direction, palms out, as if declining a hug. So this was how he'd gotten all the credit for various operations: by acting like the sole hero. What a joke.

"Give me your keys," I muttered under my breath, sidestepping towards him. He made a face of disbelief. It was then I realized that I was still holding Harris's gun yet not really aiming it in any particular direction.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he murmured out of the side of his mouth, even though the students were not yet completely visible through the dense thicket of trees directly around us.

"I'm going to go get the handcuffs out of your car," I said, not wanting to give the expert marksman in front of us any chance to grab another gun. "You can have this gun—and can tell the cadets what happened," I added helpfully, indicating the revolver in my hand. Without thinking, I then winked at him. Was this gesture my way of giving him free rein to invent the heroic details of the standoff? Yes, it was. He _had_ saved my life, in a way.

Captain Harris hesitated for a moment as if unsure, and then handed the keys to me. I handed him his gun. He looked at me rather sheepishly and then nodded as if accepting that fact. The hint of a smile appeared across his lips, and then disappeared as soon as I was aware of its implications. Was that _gratitude_ I just saw on Captain Harris's face?

"It's parked probably another 50 yards that way," he muttered, pointing towards another thicket of pine trees. "I covered it, so don't look for ruby red. Radio Proctor as well. Radio's in the glove compartment. Get him down here with a squad car right away."

My eyebrows rose. So not only did he trust me with all his keys and his car but now I could radio in to the police precinct? I was taken aback and my face showed it.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he said, the little grin at the corners of his mouth betraying the military-like style of his command. "Move it, move it, move it!"

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A/N: Thoughts? Comments? Opinions? I'm sure you have at least one... Whether an anonymous or signed review, I like both!


	20. Biased Booking

**A/N: Thanks to all of you who have been awaiting new chapters from this story. I'm currently on my way to finishing up another story but I'm torn as to how exactly to end it so I wanted to post a chapter for this story! Please leave me feedback if you have any opinions on this next installment!**

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**CHAPTER 20: Biased Booking**

I kept a safe distance away from Ace as I ran around him in the direction of Captain Harris's car. In my hands I held the precious keyring that Harris had been so reluctant to give to Ace. I could hear Harris's voice amongst the voice of the student group that was most likely making a curious circle around him as I made my way to the car.

Parked off by itself, I finally saw Harris's Corvette covered in the dark tarp. I lifted it only high enough to open the driver's side door, and then I unlocked the vehicle and got inside. I left the door slightly ajar so that the interior lights would stay on and I saw Harris's handcuffs between the driver's seat and the door. The radio was in the glove compartment as Harris said it would be. It was then that I realized I had no idea what to say or even how to work a police radio.

Scratching my head with my free hand, I held the radio up to my mouth and spoke into it. There was no echo of static so I figured I'd done it wrong. I pushed a rubbery button on the side of the radio and spoke into it.

"Is Proctor there—" I began haltingly. Dammit, what was his rank again? This time I could hear a static-filled echo as I spoke, which was more encouraging.

"Metropolitan Precinct 19, Mahoney speaking," a man's voice said. "Would you identify yourself?"

"I'm a cadet at the Metropolitan Police Academy," I explained. "April Carnegie. I'm on Captain Harris's radio."

"Ha! Really?" the man suddenly guffawed. "Never thought I'd see the day. Boy, oh boy. Let me guess; he's tied to a chair right now or perhaps he's wrapped in duct tape; am I right?"

"Uh, no," I murmured. "Why do you ask?"

"No reason," Mahoney quickly replied. "Well, if Harris isn't in some kind of trouble, what is it that you need, Miss?"

"Proctor," I asked, feeling too informal. "Captain Harris wanted me to speak with—"

"Hold on, Miss. I'll get him for you."

There followed the sound of the radio being fumbled about and soon I heard Proctor clearing his throat.

"Captain Harris?" His voice sounded oddly timid, like the whine of a puppy prepared for a beating.

"No, it's April Carnegie—from the academy."

"Why are you on his radio? What happened?"

"There's a cadet that needs to be arrested—he held me and Harris at gunpoint and threatened us. We don't have a police car here."

"Oh, so you need backup then?"

"Captain Harris wants you to come down with the squad car. We're at the game lands."

* * *

Proctor arrived on the scene in twenty minutes with a squad car. By that point Ace had been handcuffed and was now leaning up against a tree, Harris aiming his weapon steadily at him though he was no longer a threat, what with being unarmed and surrounded by dozens of academy cadets.

All the while I blended in with the student body, finding myself flanked on either side by Mullers and Stiner.

"So Ace was going to kidnap you?" they asked simultaneously, as Proctor and Harris loaded their struggling prisoner into the back of the squad car nearby. "Where was he taking you?"

A difficult question to answer. I was not about to mention the Corvette ever again, so how else could I explain it? I cursed myself for doing what Harris had done time and time again—thinking of a good lie. All the while Harris shot me a covert side-eye in an effort to better hear my reply among the hundred or so students congregating in the area.

"To his car," I blurted. "He was asking for a ransom to try to get money off of my parents."

"Holy shit," Mullers muttered, her words slightly slurred. Apparently she'd already had a lot to drink. "So your family _is_ rich…."

"Not hardly," I replied with exasperation. "He just assumed away once I'd told him I was related to Andrew Carnegie."

"Huh," Stiner murmured, stone cold sober. "When did you get here? I didn't see you come in…."

"That's because Ace stopped me before I got to the bonfire," I hastily replied. I hoped she wouldn't ask how I'd gotten there.

"Wasn't that Proctor guy with you?" she asked. At the sound of his name, Proctor turned around from his position near the squad car. "I thought you got a ride with him," she added.

Proctor's eyebrows went up as he stood beside Harris near the squad car.

"Nope—" he began, but was elbowed in the stomach by Harris, "—erson should have to walk all the way here," he spit out.

Stiner could see that Proctor and Harris were clearly listening in on our conversation, and she gave Proctor a little nod and stopped talking. So I hadn't been linked directly to Harris, but I had been linked to a lieutenant linked to Harris. It was then that I realized just what had just occurred. Captain Harris had prevented Proctor from saying what really happened, that'd I'd gotten a ride from Harris. Without even thinking first, I turned to Harris and gave him a big smile.

His response, of course, was to look confused and a bit paranoid, his eyes narrowing immediately. Before I'd even blinked, he began suspiciously scanning the area around him while I came to my senses and turned again to Mullers.

"What was _that_ all about?" Mullers asked me. Oh shit; now I'd really done it. Harris had rescued me from Proctor's big mouth only to have me ruin the secret a second later. I could feel the blood drain from my face.

"Well—it's really nothing… I just—"

"Now what?" Norris suddenly blurted out, clearly wasted. "You got the bad guy, Captain Harris; can we go back to the party now?"

At the rather bold request, Harris narrowed his eyes, which were presumably locked on Norris. He didn't speak for several unbearably silent seconds. I held my breath, hoping he'd allow for the cadets to have fun.

"I think you've done enough partying for one night," Harris growled at him, hands on his hips. Unlike at the academy, Norris now had his beer muscles and wasn't about to back down, even if it was to a superior.

"Oh, is that right?" he slurred, taking a shaky step sideways. "Guess I'll just drive home then," he said with an obnoxious snort. He tried to shrug but only ended up shrugging one shoulder and cocking his head to one side.

"Don't you dare, boy," Harris growled. He turned to his lieutenant and spoke very close into his ear. No one could hear the murmurings, but Proctor's expressionistic face conveyed that he was to do something dastardly. After he'd backed away from Harris upon hearing his instructions, Harris gave him a grim smile.

"Go, Proctor! Move it, move it, move it!"

With that, Proctor quickly jogged over to the driver's side of his squad car and drove off towards the bonfire. Harris stayed put all the while, glaring at the cadets around him. He was basically stuck now, because he certainly couldn't go walk off to his Corvette now—everyone would see him. I wondered what would happen next.

In only about five minutes, Lieutenant Proctor returned with the squad car, a big smile on his face. Upon stopping by the group of cadets, he got out of the car and saluted Harris.

"I did what you asked, Sir!" he said with a goofy grin.

Harris turned to the students, a satisfied smirk on his face, at his fellow officer's confirmation.

"Now that the scene has been cleared, you can all return to the party. I wouldn't _dare_ spoil your night of fun."

His tone was serious, but I detected a note of irony in there. Was he serious? Was he actually letting everyone go back to the party? Norris was the first to turn around and head back towards the bonfire. Captain Harris let him go without another word.

Cheers erupted from the crowd as they followed suit, stumbling back towards the party. I walked alongside Mullers, elated that I hadn't been ratted out by Proctor—or Harris.

Suddenly I felt someone grab my shoulder. I pushed on, pretending as if I hadn't felt the grip. Eventually, the grip on my shoulder prevented me from going any further. Mullers stopped as well, seeing that I was being held back.

"Just go on without me," I said to her, bitterness in my voice. "I'll be over there in a bit."

Once she'd hesitantly begun walking towards the bonfire once more, I turned to face Proctor, my arms crossed across my chest, staying silent.

"You have to provide a statement," Proctor said insistently. "You know, to convict him."

"Can't I do that later?" I asked, my voice coming out a bit too whiny. "Captain Harris knows what happened."

Captain Harris heard me say his name and glared over at me. I continued speaking.

"Captain Harris can tell you everything," I said, looking at Harris sneakily. I'm sure he'd skewed the details of the story to better pad his resume, and so my telling a completely different story would hurt his credibility; not that he cared anyway. "Can I just go to the party for a while and give a statement later?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Proctor said, looking pouty. "You have to come to the station now and _then_ you can—"

"Ehh, give her a couple hours," Harris remarked, making a dismissive gesture. "She won't forget what happened to her—mark my words."

I almost smiled, but then Proctor spoke again.

"But Sir, we have a new policy. We can't delay investigations, because for every minute that goes by—"

"That's with a crime in which the criminal isn't apprehended," Harris replied matter-of-factly. "_My_ criminal is sitting in your squad car right now waiting to be booked, thanks to my excellent police work."

"Sir, I can't let her leave—she has to give a statement."

"Well, can't I do that here right now?" I cut in. Proctor shook his head.

"No, we need another unbiased officer."

"That'd be _me_," Harris said with an expectant raising of his eyebrows.

"You're biased," Proctor remarked. At Harris's angry look, he smiled sheepishly. "Well, you are, Sir."

"And how is that?"

"Well, for one, you're a witness. Two, you and the suspect have a past. You're biased, Sir."

"Where the hell do you get off on telling me I'm biased?" Harris spat furiously. "Do you realize just who you're talking to?"

"I'm sorry, Sir, but Captain Mahoney wants us to expedite interviews to break cases sooner." His eyes went wide like saucers, realizing the gravity of his error. "Oops…."

Within a moment Harris's face had turned beet-red, his eyes like daggers.

"_Captain _Mahoney?"


	21. Revelations

I stood between Proctor and Harris, rolling my eyes. So apparently Harris had an issue with yet another police officer. How surprising.

"_Mahoney?!_" Harris yelped again, his voice oddly strained.

"Really, Sir; are you telling me you had no idea?" Proctor replied, practically sweating bullets now.

Harris's next words came out like the growl of a junkyard dog.

"I had no idea of _what, _Proctor_?_"

"Well, Sir, about a month ago the mayor decided to get some… uh, fresh blood into the office and he elected—"

"And just what am_ I_ supposed to be now?" Harris demanded, his face getting redder by the second. "Chopped liver?"

"I don't know, Sir."

Now Harris was pacing back and forth and I could just imagine how high his blood pressure was getting.

"How could the mayor just… betray me like this?! Why the hell didn't I have a say?!"

"I don't know, Sir."

Harris glared at Proctor, who noticeably cowered.

"That's a rhetorical question, you idiot!"

I'd never seen a person's face so red. I'd almost wished I'd paid more attention in health class when they were teaching CPR, because it looked like Captain Harris was going to need it soon.

* * *

Lieutenant Proctor gestured to me, in spite of the glare of death he was receiving from Harris.

"Miss Carnegie, you'll have to come with me to the station. You have to give a statement."

"Why won't you let me stay at the party?" I whined. "You let everyone else go back to what they were doing."

"Well, not Mr. Graham here," Proctor said with a goofy smile, pointing with his thumb at the backseat of his police car. "Believe me, once they see what I did over there, there won't be much of a party left." He snickered like a total moron.

I blinked.

"What did you do?"

"I told Proctor to empty their kegs," Harris stated matter-of-factly, clasping his hands behind his back and jutting his chin out. I frowned deeply, shaking my head. Could these two be any less likeable? "Let's see how much fun they can have while dead sober," Harris sneered.

"Until they realize what you did," I muttered.

Almost immediately, Harris's smug grin turned into the shifty eyed frown of a paranoid wreck. He stared off worriedly into the distance towards his Corvette.

"Speaking of which, we should get going before they, uh, come back this way."

"Miss Carnegie," Proctor said, opening his squad car passenger side door, "after you."

Ace snarled from the back seat.

"You boring-ass faux-rich bitch!" he shrieked. "You just wait 'til I make bail!"

"Watch your mouth, or that'll be another count against you," Harris replied, narrowing his eyes at Ace.

I crossed my arms defiantly. I had two options here: Ace and the police car or another ride in the Corvette.

"I don't want to be in the car with him," I commented.

"She can come with me," Harris offered. If I had to choose between a rock and a hard place, this was certainly the better choice.

"I'm sorry, Sir; I can't let you do that," Proctor replied, halting me from moving. "She has to come with me. How about you drive the squad car and I drive your—"

"Hell no," Harris replied. "You even so much as try to touch my car, you'll be picking up your teeth with two broken arms."

"It's just a 15 minute drive," I said incredulously. "Why does it matter?"

"He could tell you what to say," Proctor replied. "He could influence your testimony."

Harris's eyes grew larger and angrier until I saw veins popping out of his neck. His shoved his finger into the center of Proctor's chest, pushing him backwards. Heart attack in five… four—

"What the hell are you implying, Proctor?!" he roared. "You… you ungrateful little shit! I'm the one who got you to where you are today, and don't you forget that! You'd be working goddamn traffic lights for the rest of your miserable life if I hadn't come along!" With that he used his hand to shove Proctor backwards into his squad car. I could hear Ace cheering inside the car.

Screw this shit. I began walking towards the party as fast as my clogs could carry me. It was ridiculous listening to grown men fight like two little bratty babies. With their pathetic levels of police work, it'd probably take them two hours to figure out where I'd gone.

"Excuse me, but you have to come back!" Proctor yelled after I was about half a football field away. I looked back very briefly to see him standing alone. Where had Harris gone?

"Leave me the hell alone!" I yelled back, not even slowing my pace. "Waiting for you two is a waste of my time!"

"Miss Carnegie, you have to come back to make a statement!"

"Here's my statement," I growled, throwing my finger up at him, "Screw you! Thanks to you, you ruined my whole day!"

I turned back around to see a car headed straight towards me, its headlights piercing through the trees. The day was fading fast and I couldn't make out the color of the car, but its style was obvious as all hell: it was Harris's Corvette. Immediately I worried that the incompetent Proctor had allowed Ace to escape and that he was now proceeding to mow me down where I stood.

Before I could even react, the Corvette stopped abruptly in front of me and let out an impatient honk. The window rolled down and a hairy arm draped itself over the side.

"Get the hell in, Carnegie!" a gruff voice said. I attempted to peer through the windshield to see that it was Harris in the vehicle.

Rolling my eyes, I made my way to the passenger door and got inside. Harris was significantly less red than he had been only minutes earlier.

"Let's just get this shit over with," he muttered, clearly irritated. "I got a bone to pick with Mahoney and it ain't gonna be pretty."

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent. Two minutes passed as we sped past the bonfire, still burning although at least half the students were gone. I kept my head down to avoid being seen. I'd accepted my fate that I'd never be trusted enough to make friends at this academy. I just wanted to go back to my apartment and sleep, but Harris was determined to make it to the police station before Proctor. Speed limit signs were completely ignored as he flew past them. Suddenly it occurred to me that our stories of what happened needed to be clarified. Clearly the truth and Harris's story were two separate things.

"So," I mumbled, "what should I say?"

"About what?" he remarked.

"The statement," I continued. "Obviously our stories need to match."

"What makes you think they won't?" he said, glancing over at me accusingly. "Don't you remember what happened, Carnegie?"

"Please, refresh my memory," I said, allowing a little smile to cross my mouth before I noticed that he saw it.

"Right—well, there you were, being held hostage by Ace Graham," he began, clearing his throat before continuing. "I had been tracking you after finding your shoe. I had my pistol on him. He had his gun to your head."

"Okay, keep going," I said.

"He demanded that I give him my car keys or he'd shoot you," Harris said, beginning to slow down his story. Clearly he was restructuring the events in his head.

"I told him I don't negotiate with criminals," Harris then said. The first lie.

"Right," I commented. He made a _humph_ sound but didn't let my interruption stop the momentum of his lies.

"To distract him, I faked being tripped and while he was distracted by my clever ruse, I shot him in the hand and he dropped his weapon. You got free and grabbed his gun. I then told you to get the cuffs and radio Proctor, which you did. End of story."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head.

"Now what the hell is that supposed to mean, Carnegie?" he remarked, apparently having seen my immediate reaction to his fable.

"That is not what happened, and you know it," I said, continuing to shake my head. "_I_ shot him in the hand while pretending not to know what to do with his gun. You weren't the one to shoot him."

"How dare you change the story to boost yourself!" he suddenly bellowed. "I saved your useless, car-stealing life, you little punk! You're welcome, by the way!"

I noticeably cringed, surprised at Harris's ability to conveniently forget the truth.

"You did rescue me, but just not that way!" I replied, the volume of my voice increased though nowhere near Harris's. "You came looking for me. Had it not been for you, I probably would have been shot when Ace realized the Corvette wasn't mine. You showed a lot of bravery, holding a gun on a guy who's such an expert."

"Expert my ass," Harris remarked with a sneer. I continued speaking.

"You were even willing to give him your entire key ring so that I'd be let go. You don't have to invent the truth or embellish it! You _did_ save me!" To drive home the message, I did something crazy: I put my hand on his and patted it.

Harris jerked his hand away so quickly that he swerved the car hard to the left, all while he was driving down a public street!

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Carnegie?" Harris almost yelped, scanning the road around him after correcting his hard swerve to see a police car sitting on a side street starting its engine and turning on its red and blue lights. When would this day end?

"Shit," Harris muttered, seeing the colored lights. "This is all your fault."

I couldn't take this treatment anymore. I rather hoped he'd get arrested. I'd be the only one available to give a statement about the Ace Graham incident, and I'd be telling it as it _really_ happened.

"I'm sick of this, Captain Harris!" I raged, slamming my fists down onto my lap. "Just let me out of the goddamn car! I'm done with this police academy! And you have a _serious_ problem with the truth!"

Now he was staring at me incredulously. For the moment, he didn't know what to say.

I grabbed the door handle, but it didn't open; I'd meant it to be a dramatic gesture and by the widening of Harris's eyes, it was.

"You tryin' to get me _fired_, Carnegie? What the hell is wrong with you?" he growled, his face darkening with anger, the loud siren of the police car steadily increasing in volume as it approached us. I could feel my eyes shaking and all of a sudden my eyes were stinging. Damn. I was _not_ going to cry; no way.

"If all cops are like you," I blurted, "then I don't want to be one. Just let me out and let me live my life!"

I saw his fingers gripping the steering wheel with such tightness that his knuckles had turned white.

"Most cops aren't like me," he replied, his tone softer. "That makes me one of the _best_ cops."

"Bullshit!" I spat, impulsively spitting out the first word in my head. A mistake, but I continued hurling insults. "That's why they replaced you with whoever the hell Mahoney is!" I screamed. "They've been trying to keep you away from the station since you took me to the academy!"

I could see veins sticking out of Harris's forehead and it appeared very much that he was either suffocating or having a coronary. Before I could comment, I saw Harris grit his teeth and steel his jaw. What the hell was he going to do?

* * *

Suddenly Harris put his foot on the gas and I was slammed back in my seat as he sped straight through a red light, through a tunnel, the engine roaring as the nighttime world flew past. The cop behind us was out of sight within five minutes of Harris's speed demon driving. With the pursuing cop still out of sight and now surrounded by rolling hills of tall weeds and pine trees, Harris promptly turned and drove his Corvette straight through the weeds until we were at least fifty yards off of the road. He turned off his car and turned to me. I shivered at the rage in every muscle of his face.

"What did you just say to me?" he asked me in a quiet yet extremely dangerous voice, his eyes narrowed so as to look menacing.

"You know what I said," I replied, attempting to look just as pissed off, though he was still winning in that regard.

"You got no idea what you're talkin' about," he replied in that low, scary voice. His Texas accent was quite noticeable now, which made it obvious how angry he really was. "I spend my whole life catchin' lowlifes and you tell _me_ I got a problem with the truth? Mahoney was a criminal—a _menace_—when he was forced to join the academy. He's a smart-ass and a womanizer; I, on the other hand, am respectful towards women."

"My ass," I scoffed, crossing my arms and looking out the window. Darkness surrounded us. If I hadn't known how incompetent he was with a gun, I would have been worried for my life out there in the country with not a soul in sight.

"I am your instructor and you got no right—"

"I quit the academy about five minutes ago, remember? You're just a cop now, not my instructor. What are you going to do, arrest me?"

He could only stare at me with shock and anger, his jaw dropped. What the hell was I getting myself into?

"Not yet," he replied in a menacing tone. "What do you mean, 'my ass?" I haven't done anything that was improper—"

"You constantly insult me all the time, like calling me a hooker. You wanted me to meet you in the gym at night by myself. Not only that, but you were spying on me in the shower…."

"That was Jones's fault," he muttered, shaking his head. "That's the honest truth."

"I don't trust you," I admitted. I shifted uncomfortably in the seat, irritated at the awkward situation I was now in; sitting in the dark with a man I hated but to whom I owed a debt. "How about this; I'll make your false statement and then I want you to drop me off at my apartment."

He leaned towards me, and I could smell his breath on my face.

"I'm not your chauffeur, Carnegie. Instead of stealin' Corsicas, why don't you tell your rich mommy and daddy to hire you a driver?"

I didn't even think before I proceeded to slap the police captain across the face.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for your reviews this past chapter, especially guest, Shelle007, LEO & weasleytwins! It was those reviews that drove me to want to finish this story! Please let me know what you think about this chapter! I am planning on finishing this story and your reviews reminded me of why I love to write!**


	22. Mahoney

**A/N: Thanks for your feedback, Guest! I intend to finish this story!**

* * *

The sharp sound of my hand connecting with Harris's face was the only sound cutting through the silence of the car. I let my hand drop to my lap, feeling the heat in it as I awaited strangulation or at the very least, arrest. It didn't matter that he had pissed me off; all that anyone would know was that I had assaulted a police officer.

Harris's mouth fell open, his bottom teeth on display as he said nothing. His eyes widened immediately, and I couldn't tell if it was because of rage, fear, or shock. Maybe all three. Although he stared directly at me, his eyes seemed to be focused far away. It was odd and kind of terrifying.

I didn't know what to say, but my eyes started to water and I turned away from his now bug-eyed face, letting out frustrated gasp of a sob. My life was officially over. Surely Harris would pile on the charges, just like he'd talked about in class, and I'd be put away for years. I already knew that he loved to lie and exaggerate, so he'd make it that much worse.

From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement, and when I glanced over at Harris, he had turned to face forward again, seemingly staring at the steering wheel. His shoulders rose and fell dramatically with each breath. Obviously he was trying to calm himself down, and it didn't look like it was working. I quickly made a decision; I wasn't about to be the first person Harris strangled to death. Timidly I reached over to the inner door handle and opened the door. The interior lights came on, blinding me. Damn. I'd forgotten about that.

"Don't you dare get out of the car," Harris warned. I jerked my hand back at the sudden sound and my eyes shot over to look at him; he was still staring straight ahead, his face alarmingly red.

"Why not?" I moaned, flinging my body back into the seat. "My life is over now."

He lifted his face to look at me out of the corner of his eye, obviously puzzled.

"What do you mean, your life is over?" he asked, his eyes narrowed.

"You're gonna take me back to jail and I'll never see the light of day again," I replied, a tear streaming down my face. "I just assaulted you. I'm sure that carries some kind of… mandatory prison sentence."

"You call _that_ assault?" he responded with a chuckle. "What I got from it is you need to spend more time lifting weights."

"What are you saying?" I asked, gaping at him. "You mean, you're not gonna press charges?"

"Not this time, Carnegie," he responded. "If I'd pressed charges anytime someone assaulted me, I'd have half the police precinct in jail, including _Captain_ Mahoney. Speaking of which, we oughta get back over to the police station before Proctor sends out an APB."

"Thank you," I said, smiling with relief. I couldn't believe that he was going to let that slide and my face showed it. "I'm really sorry for… slapping you."

"That may be _the_ first time I've ever gotten an apology," he muttered, almost to himself, looking off into the distance. His eyes got wide for a moment, as something occurred to him. "Especially after being slapped."

"Are you saying you've been slapped before?" I asked, already knowing the answer. Of course he had—if he was as crass and proud in social situations as he was on his job, then he probably had gotten plenty of slaps.

"That's none of your business, Carnegie."

With that, his face turned red as a beet. I could see his head shrinking down between his shoulders as an awkward silence filled the car. He didn't seem as tough now, and the fact that he had been slapped before made me like him a little bit more. The silence between us was so uncomfortable that I had to fill it with something different, even if it meant that I'd never know how many times he'd been whacked across the face.

"What about Lieutenant Proctor saying sorry?" I asked. "It seems like he's always apologizing to you."

"Eh, it lost its meaning after the first dozen times," he said, making a dismissive gesture. "He never learns. He's like a broken record."

I crossed my hands in my lap, hoping we'd be headed back soon. I didn't know what to say so I kept it short.

"Oh."

He turned the key in the ignition and started the car, then looked over at me. "Just stick with the story I told you. I got enough problems as it is."

"Okay," I said, resigned to spew his lies to law enforcement. He must have noticed my hesitation because he looked over at me and sighed, turning the ignition off. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"Now, don't you go repeatin' what I'm about to tell you," he began. His eyes shifted around in the dark. Checking around was stupid to even bother doing, because we were in the middle of nowhere. I strained to see his expression in the dark, but it was unreadable.

"I won't."

"I'm warning you; if you so much as breathe this to another soul, I'll deny it til the cows come home, you got it? And who do you think they'll believe, you or me?"

"I'm not asking you to tell me," I muttered, squirming. I rolled my eyes with exasperation, glad that it was dark in the car. "I don't even know what you're getting at. If you don't want to tell me, then don't."

"No need to get defensive, Carnegie," he replied, putting his hands up as if attempting to protect himself against my unexpressed rage.

I sighed and faced forward, saying nothing. Apparently this was enough to make Harris want to talk. He leaned toward me as he began explaining himself in a low voice.

"Mahoney's a kiss-ass when he needs to be and I just _know_ he's fixing to get me tossed out of the department for good. Every time I so much as trip, I get a mark on my record. Let's just say I got a lot of marks. Modesty ain't a virtue at this point in my career."

I stifled a frown. Modesty wasn't, but apparently dishonesty was. He really thought he was justified lying about his actions, when it was probably what got him into his mess in the first place.

I was pulled from my irritated little internal monologue by Harris's voice.

"Speaking of which, we'll have to go a bit out of the way to avoid the cop that was tailing us. He's probably still looking for this car, which wouldn't be hard to find."

"That's true," I blurted. "It really sticks out."

He looked over at me, his face almost conveying amusement.

"You really seem to be hung up on my car," he commented, watching my response.

"Really?" I said, making a sarcastic face. "How could you tell?"

I noticed his expression becoming quite different, almost thoughtful. He laid his hands on the steering wheel, indicating the car. He turned to me, looking at me like more of an equal than a student.

"Is this something all you ladies like, or are you the exception to the rule?"

I couldn't help but let out a chuckle before I began talking.

"I can only speak for myself. Obviously I'm a bit hung up on cars in general."

I smiled at him, obviously referencing the Corsica. Ugh, why was I suddenly feeling so… chatty? That's right, I was in a ruby red Corvette—it just had to be why.

"That other car don't count," he said.

"Against my record, it does," I countered.

"Nah," he responded, making a dismissive gesture.

Was he going to take that off my record? I didn't want to ask. Maybe this was his way of repaying me for upholding his lies. I wasn't about to question it further, just in case he changed his mind.

* * *

"Sir!" Proctor exclaimed, practically jogging towards us as Harris and I walked down the hall of the police station. "I've been looking everywhere for you! Are you alright?"

"What does it look like, Proctor?" Harris questioned irritably. "I'm just fine."

"Where did you go?" Proctor asked, looking earnest.

"That's none of your damn business," Harris huffed.

"That's right," a voice said from behind Proctor. "It's my business."

Suddenly a smiling, youthful-looking man with dark hair stepped out of an office from behind Proctor, his eyes moving from Captain Harris then to me. He dwarfed Harris by at least five inches but was still fit and relatively young. I would have guessed his age to be late thirties or early forties. His face was relatively unremarkable but boyishly attractive. I instantly noticed his dark, kind eyes and the way his lips curled up at the corners, making him look mischievous.

"Mahoney," Harris growled, his body stiffening noticeably. I could feel hatred boiling inside him at the mere sight of this younger man. So this was the kiss-ass, the menace, the womanizer. I could see how Harris would feel teased by this man's roguish grin, but a menace? Not hardly.

"That's Captain Mahoney now," the man replied warmly. His face was sympathetic as he spoke directly to the two of us, though he was definitely patronizing Harris. "We were really worried about you two. Thought someone stole your car."

"Why's that?" Harris grumbled.

"Because Deputy Yeates saw a car speeding through a red light that ignored his command to pull over. He ran its plates to see that it's _your_ Corvette. I had no idea you had such… taste, Sir."

"Shh, keep it down," Harris hissed at Mahoney. "I don't want the whole damn department knowing about that car."

"Well, they do now," Mahoney said with a smile. "They're all out there looking for you." He looked up and down at Harris's civilian outfit and grinned widely. "Nice civilian clothes, Sir. I almost didn't recognize you at first."

"Ha ha, very clever, Mahoney," Harris deadpanned. "Let's get down to brass tacks. I came down here to find out what the department's been doing behind my back this week."

Proctor looked ridiculously uncomfortable, but Mahoney kept his composure quite well.

"I thought you came here to give statements regarding the arrest of a Mr. Arthur Graham," Mahoney replied. "I wanted to get both of your statements first and then if you want to talk about departmental changes, that's fine."

Captain Mahoney looked at me.

"Miss Carnegie, if you would follow me, I'd like to get your statement."

He opened a door for me and glanced back at Harris, pointing at a chair sitting directly outside of the opened door.

"Why don't you sit outside of my office and we'll talk next?" he told Harris. Harris could only grit his teeth as he replied.

"That is _my_ office, Mahoney! And you are to address me as Captain!"

Mahoney's smile was strange; it was both sympathetic and disdainful.

"Please, just give me a few minutes with Miss Carnegie, then we'll talk."

Harris looked at the office door, now emblazoned with Captain Carey Mahoney in bold black lettering.

"Where'd my name go?" Harris asked, pointing at the offending words. "This is _my_ office, damnit!"

Captain Mahoney sighed and glanced over at another police officer who'd been quietly watching the whole scene; and he walked over quietly. Now it was Mahoney, Proctor, and another officer standing across from Harris, with me off to the side by the office door.

"I didn't want you to find out the news this way," Mahoney began, finally looking serious. "Based on the findings of an ongoing investigation of your… conduct issues, the department has decided to demote you from the rank of Captain to Lieutenant. The official announcement is going to be tomorrow. The letter is in your home mailbox as we speak. I assure you that nothing has been done behind your back."

"The whole damn investigation was done behind my back!" Harris roared. "What dirt do you think you got on me? That I ran a red light ten minutes ago?!"

Mahoney sighed, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically.

"The very nature of an investigation requires that it's done discreetly. Believe me, I didn't want to be the one to have to tell you this—"

"Yeah right, Mahoney," Harris hissed. "You're sitting real pretty now, in _my_ office in _my_ chair, while I'm left wondering why the hell I didn't get a say in all of this! Whose ass did you have to kiss to get me canned, hmm?"

"They decided to demote you before they decided to hire me," Mahoney replied calmly. "Will you be alright to wait until I talk to Miss Carnegie? Deputy Yeates will stay here with you while you wait."

"Right, leave me with the numb-nuts who broke the straw in the camel's back," Harris muttered, rolling his eyes.

"The decision was made well before your running through that red light," Mahoney explained. "Although you realize, doing that probably won't help your case. Please, just wait here."

I looked at Harris to see that he looked defeated. I felt a twinge of pity. He'd predicted this, kind of. I tried to catch his eye but he couldn't lift his eyes off the floor. I wondered what things he'd done to earn this. Perhaps his lies had finally caught up with him. Which brought me to a dilemma—what was I going to say about what had happened? Would Harris try to go straight and stick with the truth, or would he still try to play himself off as the complete hero? If our stories didn't match, Harris would be really screwed.

As Harris took a seat in the chair by Mahoney's office, it suddenly collapsed underneath him, causing him to yell out in surprise and shock. Immediately Proctor rushed forward and yelped pull him to his feet while Deputy Yeates cracked up. A couple of days ago I would have thought this was hilarious, but today I was just saddened by it. He never got a break, did he? Mahoney shuffled me into the office and shut the door before I could see Harris's expression.

* * *

**A/N: Review! Please!**


	23. Proper Police Procedure

**A/N: Thank you for your feedback! Thank you Guest, Shelle007, and Prvt. Caboose! Enjoy this next installment!**

* * *

Captain Mahoney walked me through the usual questions; my name, birthdate, parents' names, address and phone number. As he wrote down the information into a premade form, he kept a mildly amused smile on his face. After we'd gotten through with the generic questions, I couldn't stand it any longer.

"What did Harris do to get demoted?" I blurted.

"Please, Miss, let's just finish the questions first," he replied. "What time did you leave the police academy today?"

"Probably about 5, 5:15," I muttered.

"How did you leave the academy? Did you walk?"

"No, I left in a car."

"Whose car?"

"Captain Harris's car."

"Interesting," he commented, raising an eyebrow. "Which car?"

"His Ford Crown Victoria. Are we gonna get to the part about my being held hostage?"

"I just have to establish the time of day that each event happened. It's a problem we've had in the department—everything's all over the place and we weren't following proper police procedure."

"Police procedure?"

"Wow, I hope that you've only just started at the academy," he said, chuckling and giving me that same strange pitying grin. "Basically, almost all of the precinct's convictions—the ones they _had_ actually managed to get, anyway—were getting overturned based on lousy police work. In fact, that's why Mr. Graham was out and about."

"Is _that_ why Harris is getting demoted?"

"Nosey girl," Mahoney replied, winking at me. "You're a cop at heart." His smile was contagious, and I couldn't help but grin at the compliment.

"What happened exactly?" I prodded next.

Mahoney smiled, although this time, he looked hesitant.

"Believe me, Harris is a thorn in my side and I'd love to tell you all about his incompetence but I don't want to be a hypocrite—I have to follow proper procedure. Now, where did you and Harris go next?"

"To his house," I muttered. This sounded bad. He skipped a beat before asking the next question.

"And what did you do there?"

"Captain Harris changed."

"Changed what?"

"His clothes and his car. He wanted to blend in to the cadets' party."

"You don't have to explain his reasoning," Mahoney indicated to me. "Just stick to the facts and the story will come together on its own."

Facts. Right. When would this start falling apart? Mahoney was a good questioner and seemed to be a fair-minded, level-headed kind of guy—basically, the opposite of Captain—err, Lieutenant Harris.

Captain Mahoney proceeded to question me about the time that Harris and I arrived at the party in the game lands and then we went through the details of the lightning bug homicide with Ace. When it came time in the story for Harris to enter and 'save' me, I was frankly terrified. Would Harris be lying or telling the truth?

I figured he'd lie.

"All of a sudden, Captain Harris appeared in front of us, holding a gun on Ace," I explained. "He had my shoe in his hand and he dropped it on the ground." I began to stammer, attempting to remember how Harris had diverted the next part.

"What happened next?" Mahoney asked. Here was my transition from truth to lies.

"Ace asked Harris for the keys to the Corvette," I replied, remembering Harris's explanation.

"Wait—let's back up," Mahoney said, looking confused. "How did Graham know the car was Harris's? You just said he assumed _you_ owned the Corvette, even when you assured him several times that it wasn't yours. Maybe you skipped something—think back. I just want to make sure all the facts are there."

Shit. If I told the bad guy that the car was Harris's, I'd look like a rat. Even if Mahoney hated Harris, he wouldn't be too impressed hearing about my revealing such information.

"I don't know—I think Harris was still carrying the keys in his hand. Maybe Ace recognized the keychain or something."

"Okay. So Harris was holding a gun on Ace with one hand and carrying keys and your shoe in the other? Then he dropped the shoe but held onto the keys?"

"I think," I muttered, feeling like an idiot.

"What happened next?"

"Harris said that he doesn't negotiate with criminals," I replied.

"Did Graham say anything back?"

"I think he started to mutter stuff, threaten us. But then Captain Harris tripped."

"He tripped? On what?" Mahoney asked.

"On my shoe that I lost. He'd put it on the ground in front of him earlier."

"Did he fall down?"

"Uh, not all the way; he caught himself. He then shot Ace in the hand. Ace dropped his gun."

"Wait—you're going a little fast for me. Just one step at a time," Mahoney said, ridiculously patient. "Now, what happened to give Harris the opportunity to shoot Graham?"

"Well, Ace started to laugh when Captain Harris tripped," I explained. "He moved the gun away from my head for a little bit while he was laughing."

"So while Mr. Graham was laughing, Captain Harris held onto his gun while falling, composed himself and then shot Mr. Graham in the hand?"

"Yes."

If Mahoney knew anything about Harris, that last line that I'd agreed to must have sounded completely absurd.

"What were you doing while Harris shot Mr. Graham?"

"I squirmed away from him so that there was a clear shot."

"How did you know that Harris would be attempting a shot?"

"I didn't," I admitted. "I just hoped he would."

"And Mr. Graham had no other hold on you, other than the pistol to your head?"

"Right," I answered.

"What happened when Harris shot Mr. Graham in the hand?"

"Like I said, Ace dropped his gun. I then grabbed it off the ground and aimed it at him."

"Are you in a romantic relationship with Harris?"

"No," I responded. That question came out of nowhere, but it was probably inserted there to make me answer without hesitation, as it had.

All that I said from then on was about my being ordered to radio the police station, which I did do. I left the room feeling dizzy with relief. When I emerged into the hallway, Harris was pacing back and forth while Proctor and Deputy Yeates stood by watching him.

"Okay, you can come in now," Mahoney announced. Harris stopped pacing and his eyes went to me. I gave him a tight-lipped smile that he would hopefully read as encouraging. He quickly moved past me into Mahoney's new office.

* * *

"How dare you, Mahoney!" Harris roared, as soon as the door shut. A fist slammed down on a desk. I gulped. Was Harris capable of murder? Harris continued to speak. "How dare you walk in my office and move _my_ trophies and put some picture of your buttface girlfriend—"

"That's my mother, you prick," Mahoney shot back, his voice not quite as loud but very clear. "She died two months ago."

"Oh, your _mother_," Harris muttered, clearly ashamed. "Looks… young. Right. Sorry for your loss."

I wasn't able to hear any more of them speaking, probably because the conversation had become civil. Obviously, getting called out for insulting Mahoney's dead mother had quieted the junkyard dog inside Harris. I crossed my fingers that our stories were consistent.

When Captain Harris emerged from the room, he looked dog-tired. Mahoney came out second and his expression was one of complete puzzlement. He signaled to me.

"Miss Carnegie, could you come back in my office, please?" Captain Mahoney asked.

"Just rub it in more, will ya?" Harris muttered, shaking his head with disgust. "Why you gotta see her again?" he asked Mahoney. "I thought we could head back to the academy, you know, before everyone else _graduates_."

"It'll only be a couple more minutes," Mahoney countered. "Miss Carnegie, I need to speak with you one more time."

* * *

I sat down across from Mahoney and saw a troubled look on his face. He remained silent for a bit too long, so I blurted out something to fill the awkwardness.

"So, what do you need to talk to me again for?" I asked.

"I'll get to the point, Miss Carnegie. Your and Lieutenant Harris's stories don't match."

* * *

Damn it to hell. Did Harris try to discredit me even more? Did he say he grabbed Ace's gun or did he say that tripping wasn't even involved? Or did he say we were in a romantic relationship? I wasn't sure what to think.

"How so?"

"I guess I'll give you another opportunity to respond to the several inconsistencies between your and Harris's statements. Who shot the suspect in the hand?"

"What are you talking about?" I murmured, shocked. "I already told you." Had Harris given _me_ credit for that? He wasn't supposed to do that.

"Who was it again? Just for the record," he said, smilingly, grabbing his pencil and holding it on the paper. I was getting a bit aggravated by his constantly calm demeanor. He just didn't remind me of the typical television cop, angry and impatient and ready to shoot in an instant. It was a bit unnerving seeing him sit there so cool and collected, his hands entwined on his desk. He'd just had his dead mother insulted less than fifteen minutes ago, and here he was, pleasant as ever.

"It was Harris," I said insistently.

"Really," he said. "Are you sure about that?"

"Are you telling me that Captain Harris didn't say what I said?"

"I'm just asking you a question," Mahoney said gently. "Captain Harris fell and yet he was able to shoot Mr. Graham, a confirmed expert in firearms? That doesn't sound like him." His voice became very low. "I realize that he probably blackmailed you to tell a _better_ story, but that's part of why he's not captain anymore and I am. You do realize that lying to law enforcement is a crime, don't you, Miss?"

I swallowed a knot in my throat at the thought. Would I ever get a chance to be on the law-abiding side of the line?

"If he blackmailed me, as you say, then why would we have any inconsistencies?"

"Because I'm a good questioner," he replied with a smile. "And he's what you would call a _bad cop_."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"What do you mean?"

"I was a student at the academy while he was an instructor there, just like you. All he did was play the 'bad cop' role, and play it he did, to a T. He's still doing that. I heard of your jumping jack ripped pants situation over there. Not only does he play the role—he lives it."

I was still in Harris damage control mode. Harris's prediction of Mahoney's actions struck a chord with me. I began to defend Harris yet again.

"That doesn't mean that he would purposely blackmail—"

"Miss Carnegie, you don't have to protect him. He's been bounced around to more precincts than you can shake a stick at. He's just lucky Commandant Lassard is patient enough to put up with him, or else he'd be out of a job for good."

"Well, he told me about all the pranks that have been pulled on him and how no one respects him, and even the chair collapsing on him in the hallway just now is—"

"Wow, I never thought I'd see the day," Mahoney said with a laugh, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. He shook his head in disbelief, pointing at me good-naturedly. "Man, he must really have some dirt on you."

"He saved my life," I said matter-of-factly. "If it hadn't been for him finding me being taken away by Ace, I would be long gone by now."

"Really."

"He found my shoe and came looking for me, and he stood up to Ace, who showed both of us at the academy shooting range that he was an expert marksman. He even agreed to give Ace his keys so Ace would let me go. Harris saved my life tonight. That's all you need to know."

"Unfortunately, that's not all I need to know in order to get our suspect locked away in jail with police work that checks out. Tell me what really happened and I promise I won't hold it against you or Lieutenant Harris."

"He's Captain Harris, until tomorrow," I retorted. "Right?"

"Okay," Mahoney replied tiredly, holding his hands up as if surrendering. "Now, tell me what really happened tonight at the game lands…."

* * *

**Please review! Sorry about the relative lack of Harris in this chapter!**


	24. A Proposition

**A/N: Thank you to Shelle007 & Katrina Connors for your reviews! **

**Chapter 24: Proposition**

* * *

When I emerged from Captain Mahoney's office twenty minutes later, I saw Lieutenant Proctor quickly back away from the door and take the paper Dixie cup he'd been holding over to the water cooler. What a dumbass; of course he'd been using it to listen through the door. The only question was: had he told Harris what he'd heard? I looked over at Captain Harris, who sat in a chair across the hall, looking taken aback and slumped against the back of the chair, his arms draped over the sides, an unnatural stance for him. I couldn't tell just yet. Deputy Yeates was nowhere to be found.

"Where's Deputy Yeates?" Mahoney asked Proctor.

"Captain Harris told him to watch his Corvette," Proctor replied, filling up his flimsy paper cup with hot water. He dropped it with a _yeowch_ and Harris abruptly stood up from his chair next to the water cooler, narrowly avoiding the hot mess. Harris's eyes met mine and wouldn't move; rather, he narrowed his eyes at me as if attempting to uncover my angle. So he _had_ overheard…. I wondered how much he'd overheard.

Mahoney made no effort to correct Proctor. I smiled internally at the thought. Instead, Mahoney approached Harris and me.

"Everything's set, guys. Thank you for catching the perp," Mahoney said as solemnly as possible. "See you later, Captain Harris."

In response to the address, Captain Harris frowned for an instant, confused, and then straightened his back when he saw that it wasn't a mistake.

"No thanks to _you_, Maho—… _Captain_ Mahoney," he grumbled. Shaking his head, he turned away from what was once his office in the precinct's police station.

I began walking toward the door and was soon accompanied by Harris, who somehow walked fast enough to beat me to the car. He unlocked the doors and sat down inside, nodding to Deputy Yeates as he put on his seatbelt. I got in the Corvette, feeling very unsteady on my feet.

Harris backed out of the parking space in complete silence. We pulled away from the precinct office and headed toward—wait, we were heading _away _from the police academy. The Corvette approached an abandoned warehouse and Harris drove right into its gaping loading dock with not a moment's hesitation or even a turn signal. Once inside the dusty, dim building with tiny grimy windows, he turned off the car.

I took in a quiet breath and held it.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, glaring at me. I was frightened.

"Do what… Captain?" I replied, letting the air out with my final word. Harris rolled his eyes with exasperation.

"Cut the bullshit, Carnegie; it's Lieutenant. You heard Mahoney; the decision's already been made. In three hours, it'll be tomorrow and it'll be official."

I fell silent.

"Now, why did you do that?" he asked again, impatience in his voice.

"I still don't understand what 'that' is," I muttered. "What are we doing in here?"

"Proctor kept a running play-by-play on what you and Mahoney talked about and I technically heard it all. Why did you defend me in there? What's your angle?"

"What?" I squawked. "What I want to know is why you didn't stick to the story you told me to tell!"

"I did stick to the story."

"What are you talking about? Captain Mahoney said that—"

"He lied, Carnegie. Plain and simple. Believe me, I know a liar when I see one."

I felt myself grinning. So apparently Harris didn't own a mirror. How ironic that Mahoney had lied to catch a lying liar.

"So, why did you defend me?" he huffed. "Even after you told him more or less what had happened, you still candy-coated it a bit."

"I thought you needed to be defended," I explained. "I know you did everything you could do to help me. You had no backup or handcuffs and you still went looking for me! You saved me and I'm grateful. That's all that matters."

His mouth fell open again, except this time it wasn't because of a slap to the face. He just stared at me and then his eyes moved downward until it seemed that my left leg was the most interesting thing in the car.

"What is this place?" I asked, glancing around in the dusty darkness of the large empty warehouse building.

"An old training building for the academy; hasn't been used in years," he explained quickly. "Speaking of which, we oughta get back. It's totally inappropriate that you've been in my car."

"This is nothing," I replied with a scoff. "Evidently Captain Callahan was sleeping with Cadet Wayne the very first night of the academy and now she's with Bordeaux," I blurted, shrugging. "I heard she does that every year with cadets. Believe me, my sitting in your car is nothing."

"When did you hear that?" Harris replied, eyes blazing.

"Lately, just sitting at lunch or something," I replied. "Actually, I think I overheard it from the guys' table."

"So they said it's been going on for years with Callahan? I may have to look into this."

"Can you please not get me disliked by more people?" I begged. I sighed. Great. Another opportunity to alienate myself from my peers. "I already got the cadets' party ruined, no thanks to you. I'll be lucky if I can sit with anyone from now on."

"You can sit with _me_," he offered. I stared at him with confusion, trying to determine if he was joking or not. "After all, Carnegie, I saved your life," he added.

"Wait—you're going to blackmail me into sitting with you?!" I blurted.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he shot back. "I'm just offering a seat in case you can't find one. Lighten up, Francis."

I calmed down at the thought. Hmm, Harris was being nice to me, uncharacteristically so. He had even quoted the movie _Stripes_.

"Okay."

He began to lean towards me, keeping his voice down.

"So, what do _you_ think about Callahan messing around with the cadets?"

"Eh, let 'em do what they want," I replied, making a dismissive gesture. "Who are they hurting?"

"Right," Harris muttered. "Callahan ain't hurtin' nobody. Nothin' illegal about it."

"That's right," I repeated. "Just let them be. Please."

Harris looked out the driver's side window and then checked his rear view mirror, removing his seat belt as he did so. He reached for the steering wheel and ran his hands along the keychain dangling from the ignition. After clearing his throat, he spoke.

"I'll bet you never thought you'd see the day when you got to ride around in a ZR1, huh?"

"I guess so," I agreed, shrugging.

He turned to me suddenly, a playful smirk on his lips. "You like Corvettes, Carnegie?"

"Duh," I replied, crossing my arms and grinning at him.

He leaned towards me, no longer restricted by a seatbelt, and draped his arm across the center console. His eyes gleamed with something I hadn't seen there before.

"Wanna get lucky in one?"

* * *

Captain Harris had propositioned me for sex in his cherished Corvette, or at least that's what it had sounded like he said. My jaw couldn't have dropped any lower. I could only stare at Captain Harris as he nodded ever so slightly, his mouth curling into a sly smile. I looked again at his bare finger as his left hand sat on his leg. My eyes traveled back to his face, where he continued to eye me like a prey animal. He had to be kidding. Where had this come from? The man _hated_ me.

"What?" I sputtered, my eyes bugging out of my head. If he could say it again, then perhaps he was serious. Nah. He couldn't have been serious to say that.

"I asked you if you wanna get lucky in a Corvette," he replied, his voice tinged with irritation. "Obviously, it'll have to be _after _you get fitted for hearing aids."

"D-do you mean, with you?" I asked, immediately feeling dumb.

"Of course I mean with me," he said with a scoff. "Who'd you think I was talkin' about?"

"I just… I just wanted to be sure that's what you meant," I stammered. "But why? You hate me."

"I don't hate you," he replied, blinking indignantly. "One would think that my _proposition_ would've made that obvious on its own."

"But you don't even like me," I responded.

"Wrong again, Carnegie," was his reply. "Listen, we're both consenting adults and now's as good a time as any for us to both get laid. The rumors will spread, regardless."

"But in this warehouse?" I said, turning to look out the windshield.

"_What_, _who_, _why_, and now _where_, you've asked," Harris muttered. "Lemme guess the next question—_when? _Am I right?"

"I just think the place should be less… urban," I commented, glancing through the windshield at the giant, open building. A smile appeared on Harris's face as I attempted to clarify my statement. "Uh, I mean, if I were… interested in that, of course."

He could sense my hesitation and paused for a moment, face dead serious again.

"Wait—you're not a virgin, are you? 'Cause I don't—"

"No," I interrupted, rolling my eyes. "Not that that's any of your business."

He sighed loudly, starting the car and then shifting into first gear. After he did so, he pulled on his seatbelt once more. At least a minute of uncomfortable silence followed, though it felt like an hour.

"Point taken, Carnegie," he said, defeated, as he turned around the car to face the open loading dock. "I'll drop you off at your apartment if you want. I strongly urge you to not talk about this to your buddies or you _will_ see a bad cop."

So he _had_ heard it all. My hands felt clammy as I kept my eyes forward. He had more self-control than I'd given him credit for. If I'd known that my boss had lied in order to make me look bad, I'd be pissed—of course, Harris had lied first.

Had Harris seriously just propositioned me just moments before threatening me? I remembered looking at Harris's ring-less hand and thinking that he wasn't bad looking when I first met him, before I decided that he was an irredeemable prick. In the past day or so, he'd shown himself to be much more complicated than that. Even so, I was a 34-year-old woman and one-night stands were beneath me. The man had had no qualms about forcing me to lie to Captain Mahoney. Just the fact that Harris was still calling me by my pseudo-masculine last name was the opposite of titillating.

"Can you at least call me by my first name when you're propositioning me?" I heard myself say.

"You mean, call you April? Would that really make that much of a difference?" he asked.

"Maybe," I replied.

He rolled his eyes, clearly flustered.

"Fine, _April_, here's my proposition." He twisted his upper body around to face me fully. "Today has been lousy for both of us. I just got demoted from the position that is the center of my whole damned life. You didn't get to enjoy your little party. Now, maybe the Corvette's a little smaller than the Corsica you're used to screwing around in, but these seats lean back like you wouldn't believe."

I gaped at him, my eyes narrowing with disgust. How dare he call _Mahoney_ a womanizer, when he was one to proposition a cadet in the shadiest way possible? It was absolutely gross, and I bit my tongue to keep from telling him that. No need to make his day any worse. Maybe he'd saved my life, but his powers of persuasion really sucked.

I groaned in spite of myself. "No thank you, Captain Harris. I just want to go back to my apartment. It's at 623 Seventh Avenue." I dug around in my purse and found my keys. Even though I had left my wallet at the academy, the keys were all I needed for now.

"Would calling me Thaddeus make it any better?" he asked, his face almost comical now so as to appear unthreatening. "Not that you can do that at the academy, of course."

"No, it wouldn't," I replied. "I really should get back."

He turned back to face forward, the air slowly draining out of him as he pulled out of the warehouse.

* * *

"How are you gonna get to the academy on Sunday?" Harris asked, as I stood on the sidewalk in front of my apartment. He had the driver's side window rolled down and had draped his arm along the doorframe as he looked up at me. "I know you don't have a car."

"I'll find a way," I replied. He said nothing. "Anyway, thanks for helping me," I added.

"Geez, in less than an hour you demote it from 'you saved my life' to 'you helped me,'" he grumbled. "Damn ingrate..."

"Give me a break," I countered, throwing up my hands in frustration. "You did save my life, okay? But you made me lie to a police officer and look like an idiot in front of him! And if you think that I'm easy because I have a record, well, you're wrong!"

"Have it your way, Carnegie," he called out, applying the gas so quickly that his tires squealed. The Corvette was gone in a cloud of black smoke. I walked into the apartment building and walked up to the door. Everything would be the same. Maybe there'd be a couple more messages on my machine from my parents. Damn. I had a lot to tell them, and I didn't want to do it. Harris was right when it said it had been a lousy day. It still was.

* * *

**A/N: Please review!**


	25. Trial and Errors

**A/N: Thank you so much for your feedback, Katrina Connors and Shelle007! I'm so glad you both are still reading this story! If you haven't seen Police Academy 6, you might be a little lost in this chapter—it's based on the happenings of that movie!**

**Chapter 25: Trial and errors**

* * *

Being able to go back to the apartment was refreshing. I returned to the academy on Sunday night with pajamas, underwear and toiletries and it was good to feel prepared. Right after I finished up putting my stuff away, Stiner, Mullers, and Manson came into my room.

"What happened to you the other night?" Mullers asked. "No one could find you," she said. "We waited for you by the bonfire."

"I had to go to the station to give a statement about what happened," I replied. "I had to go with Captain Harris."

"Actually, it's Lieutenant," Stiner said, smiling devilishly, "I guess you hadn't heard. He got demoted."

"Really?" I said, acting ignorant. I didn't want anyone knowing just how much time I'd spent with the jackass.

She couldn't stop grinning.

"Serves the jerk right. Did you know that he had that Proctor guy dump out all the kegs? We ended up going home probably a half hour after that cop car pulled up."

"That sucks," I replied, feeling slightly better that I hadn't missed a fun time. "Did you end up going anywhere else?"

"We ended up going to a goofy place called the Blue Oyster Bar," Manson blurted. "Apparently it's a gay bar, but it's the only dance club in town and they sure do play some good songs in there! I was a little sad that I didn't get hit on once, but I guess it makes sense, considering."

"Who all went there?" I asked.

"Oh, most of the people from our squadron and a couple from Captain Tackleberry's. Fenster got felt up on the dance floor, but not by a girl. The way he reacted reminded me of _Deliverance_; he squealed and ran away!"

At this statement, all three laughed. I laughed with them, although I was still super irritated that I hadn't been able to rejoin them at some point in the evening. Instead, I'd spent my time defending Harris, refusing his advances and finally, upon getting home, going through the mail that had piled up at my apartment building. I ended up sending in my phone bill three days late, almost wishing that they'd disconnected it. My parents had left six messages on my answering machine, each more anxious than the last. Never mind that they hadn't actually made the trek here to find me. Not that I would have wanted that either.

"What did you end up doing this weekend?" Stiner asked me.

"Nothing," I replied. "I told my parents where I was and paid some bills. Just a bunch of boring stuff."

"Don't feel bad; that was my weekend too, for the most part," Mullers said. "Let's get some dinner. Gotta get prepared for tomorrow!"

* * *

When we entered the cafeteria, it was relatively empty. I saw Lieutenant Hightower and Sergeant Hooks sitting at the officers' table. Jones soon joined them and they carried on with their little chat. Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about Harris for the time being and what he might say… or do. I got my food from the buffet line and sat down with Mullers, Stiner, and Manson.

"I heard that they might be taking us on a field trip this week!" Manson exclaimed. "They'll be taking us to court to listen to part of a trial."

"Man, when you said field trip, I thought you meant it'd be something fun," Mullers groaned. "That sounds like a great day to sleep."

"Well, at least it beats doing sit-ups all day," Manson responded. "They're going to open the academy pool sometime this week too!"

I frowned. I didn't have a bathing suit with me and even if I did, I'd be uncomfortable wearing it in front of the male cadets, not that they'd be looking. A flat-chested woman with no real distinguishing features to speak of wasn't very attention-grabbing.

"Ha, here comes _Lieutenant_ Harris now!" Manson squeaked, glancing toward the cafeteria door. "I wonder if Norris will call him out on that tomorrow. He really bad-mouthed Harris at the bonfire. I forgot to ask—what do _you_ think, April?"

"What do I think about _what_?" I said, blanking on the question. I saw Harris entering the cafeteria with my peripheral vision. I wasn't about to acknowledge his presence.

"Harris's demotion," Manson clarified. "I remember him making a big stink about saving your life when we all started to head towards you guys at the game lands. Did he really save your life?"

"Yeah," I muttered. "He did."

"Then why is he getting demoted if he literally _just_ did something heroic like that?"

"I don't know," I replied quietly, shaking my head and keeping my eyes averted. "I think they made the decision about him before Friday," I muttered. "I really don't know much of anything. I gave my statement about what happened at the game lands and then went home."

"That sucks that your night turned out so awful," Stiner said to me, attempting to cut what looked like a raw baked potato. "I bet they'll reschedule Friday's party for this week—we'll make sure you get a ride there."

I smiled, glad that there was still hope for having a good time.

"You better."

* * *

"Well, well, well," Harris's voice boomed out. He stood in front of our table, twirling his baton in one hand and for the most part, he didn't look as if he'd just been demoted. "Looks like your training's paying off."

"What do you mean," Mullers said half-heartedly. I said nothing, keeping focused on my food.

"I never expected D-squad back from the weekend break so early," he explained. "Must say, I'm impressed."

"Were we not supposed to be back Sunday night?" Stiner said, making a confused face.

"Just 'cause cadets are asked to do something, doesn't mean they do it," Harris said. "Right, Carnegie?"

I jerked my head up at the sound of my name. Harris was grinning at me.

"What?"

"Hearing aids, Carnegie," he said, touching his ear for emphasis. I could only gape at him with shock. I thought he wanted to pretend as if we hadn't interacted more than what the students had seen. Apparently he still wanted the rumor mill to start. After he was satisfied with how annoyed I looked, he shook his head slightly and strode away from our table with his chin up, twirling his baton.

Now Mullers, Stiner, and Manson were staring at me.

"What the hell was that all about?" Manson asked.

"He's nuts," I replied. I wanted to change the subject—badly—so I began the transition. "You think _that's_ something; you should've seen how he reacted to some old cadet of his. The cadet's replaced him as captain as the precinct, and he actually insulted the man's dead mother."

"Geez, what an ass," Mullers huffed. "Who's the new captain? Have we met him?"

"He doesn't work at the academy," I said. "His name's Mahoney."

"What's he look like?" Manson asked.

"Pretty good-looking, really," I explained. "He's got dark hair and he just looks like a nice guy, real laid back. I'd say he's in his late thirties."

"Is he tall?"

"Oh yeah, definitely over six feet. Towers over Harris."

"That's not saying much," Stiner muttered.

They all had a good chuckle about that. In the meantime, I saw Harris marching over to an empty table after getting his food. He sat with his back to us, which was good. I was glad I didn't have to watch him leer at us through the whole meal.

"I hope we get to meet him," Mullers said. "Any enemy of Harris is a friend of mine."

"You got that right," Stiner added with a smile. "I wonder what he has planned for us tomorrow..."

* * *

"Attention, attention," the PA blared. I looked at my watch. It was 7 in the morning. Ugh. "D-squad is to report to the gymnasium today by 0800 hours in formal dress," the PA continued.

At 8 am we stood in the gymnasium in our police uniforms, and unlike on the firing range, I noticed just how ill-fitting some cadets' uniforms were. Fenster couldn't button his shirt all the way to the bottom, so his white undershirt was peeking out from underneath. Brookstone was swimming in her huge pants and she had to borrow Fenster's belt. Manson's pants were at least six inches too long. Even with the mismatched people, Bordeaux's uniform looked as if it was tailored for him. Of course, this was most likely due to his association with a certain instructor. Captain Callahan stood off to the side in her police uniform and sunglasses, her hair hidden under her hat. Unbelievably, Harris was a no-show.

"Today we're going on a field trip," Callahan announced. "We will be attending an actual criminal trial."

"You saying the trial's just one day?" Norris said with a guffaw.

"The trial, no," Callahan announced. "Your life, maybe, if you do something that disgraces this academy. The bus is here. Let's go."

"Where's Lieutenant Harris?" Fenster inquired.

"Clearly he's not here," Captain Callahan replied. "Let's go or we'll be late."

* * *

After we'd all been seated, the judge entered the courtroom. I looked around the courtroom for a sign of Harris, but he was nowhere to be seen. On one side of the courtroom I saw the defendant, a large man with a moustache sitting at one desk with a lawyer on either side. On the other side of the courtroom were two prosecutors busily sifting through a folder stuffed with papers.

"All rise, Superior Court of the Metropolitan District, for the Honorable Judge Eaton," the bailiff announced. We all stood up to watch the judge appear in his black robes.

As I watched the proceedings, it was apparent to me that this was not the first day of the trial. Clearly the defendant, Mr. Thompson, was on trial for grand larceny at the very least, in addition to a host of other charges. I saw him sweating at the table. Oddly, he had a tiny model ship in front of him and was reattaching a mast with some glue. How unprofessional.

"I just overheard that we're going to see the difference between good police work and bad police work," Mullers whispered to me. "I heard Callahan and Bordeaux talking about it."

I glanced over at the jury box and was caught off-guard by the defense attorney standing up.

"The defense calls Thaddeus Harris to the stand," the defense attorney announced. I choked on my spit and began coughing, covering my mouth with both hands. Just as I managed to stop coughing, the doors in the back of the courtroom opened and Harris strode in, wearing his police uniform. Although it was obvious that he'd had his uniform pressed and the buttons polished, he looked uncomfortable as hell. He wore no hat but had pins and medals affixed to his breast pocket and to his lapels. As he walked down the center aisle, he glanced over at the cadets and grimaced.

Harris was instructed to put his right hand on the Bible and hold his left hand in the air.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" the bailiff asked him.

"I do," Harris muttered. He was instructed to sit down in the witness box. He shifted in his seat and it was then that I got a good look at his hair, which had obviously not yet been under a hat today. It glistened silver under the courtroom lights and it was combed neatly. This was unfair to do to him in front of us students. Of course, it was possible that the academy officials hadn't realized that Harris would be put on the stand today, but the fact that Callahan had pointed out good versus bad police work meant that they obviously wanted to make an example of someone—Harris. It was odd that he was a witness for the defense. Perhaps he'd had no choice in the matter.

"Now, Mr. Harris—I apologize, Lieutenant Harris," the defense attorney began, "when was the first time that you met the defendant Mr. Thompson?"

"It would have been… seven-and-a-half or eight years ago," he replied.

"Where did this meeting take place?"

"It wasn't a meeting, really; it was a political rally for him."

"And where was that being held?"

"The community center."

"When was the next time you met Mr. Thompson?"

"I believe it was at his mayoral inauguration."

"When was that?"

"The beginning of '88. I don't remember the exact date."

The _mayor_. Now I knew what case this was. _Mayor Thompson_. He was the mastermind of the Wilson Heights gang that Ace had told me about at the shooting range, the gang that Ace had been part of. Man, this case had been slow to come to trial.

I remembered Captain Mahoney mentioning how Ace Graham was free because of bad police work. Apparently the trial for the former mayor needed more preparation—_much_ more preparation, by the looks of it. Six _years_ ago this had happened and only now was the mayor being tried.

The questioning continued with easy questions about dates and times. But then it began to take a slightly more probing nature. I noticed Harris squirming in his seat at several of the questions.

"In the meetings held in Mr. Thompson's office, Lieutenant, did you ever have anyone accompany you?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Proctor," Harris spat.

"Are you referring to Lieutenant Carl Proctor of the Metropolitan 19th precinct?"

Harris made a face of distaste.

"Carl?" Harris blurted. I almost slapped my own forehead at his confusion. He didn't know his own assistant's first name. Wow. "Got a picture?" Harris asked. I heard several cadets murmuring behind me.

The defense attorney stepped away from the bench and brought up a picture after submitting it into evidence.

"Yeah, that's him," Harris muttered, wiping the back of his neck with a hand. "Just wanted to be sure we were talkin' about the same person."

"Lieutenant Carl Proctor—was he at all the meetings?"

"No."

"At which meetings was he present?"

"I don't know; the first couple?"

"You sound unsure, Lieutenant Harris—"

"The first two or three, I can't remember."

"Now, in those meetings, how did they typically begin?"

"Well," Harris began, "I'd ask the mayor how his day was going, if there was anything he needed me to do; you know, standard stuff."

"So those exchanges are standard things that you do when greeting someone?"

"Yeah—I mean, yes."

"Did you ask those questions of your coworkers at the police station?"

"When?"

"Ever. Have you ever asked, for example, Lieutenant Proctor if there was anything he needed you to do?"

"Of course not," Harris said, chuckling to himself as he replied.

"Why not?"

"Because he's under me."

This remark was met with a couple scattered chuckles from the courtroom. The bailiff made the motion to be quiet. Harris's face had since turned red.

"I mean, he's my inferior," Harris corrected.

"So let me understand this; you are only cordial to those you consider to be a superior."

Harris frowned, obviously embarrassed by his admission. He attempted to backpedal.

"That's not what I said."

The lawyer continued.

"Do you consider Commandant Lassard to be your superior?"

Harris paused for a moment, glancing briefly over at us cadets.

"Uh, of course."

"Have you ever asked him if there was anything he needed you to do?"

"I'm sure I have."

"Did you consider Mr. Thompson to be your superior during his tenure as the town mayor?"

I watched Harris freeze in place. Already he was sweating profusely.

"Not really," Harris replied.

"You do realize that Mr. Thompson had the power to fire you," the lawyer said.

"That's right."

"Well, does that not make him your superior?"

* * *

I turned to Mullers with a look of unease as the questioning continued.

"Why do they have to go into this level of detail?" I whispered to her. "Ugh, this is nerve-wracking."

"Harris is the one who was tipping off the mayor," she explained. "They're trying to show that Harris had selfish reasons for sharing that top secret information with him."

"Shhh," Callahan cautioned from somewhere behind us.

The questioning continued for what seemed like forever. Eventually the lawyer delved into showing how Captain Harris handled his investigation of the robberies. His utter incompetence made it hard to believe that he _wasn't_ trying to help out the Wilson Heights gang. A priceless diamond had been stolen right from under his nose while he was sitting in the armored truck that was carrying it!

"You have indicated to the court that you were in the armored truck when the diamond was stolen," the lawyer said. Harris grimaced.

"Yes."

"Could you explain how you did not see the large hole being cut in the floor of the armored truck?"

"You see, the Wilson Heights gang had created a diversion outside the armored truck, and Proctor and I were observing it while the diamond was stolen."

Eventually it was obvious that Harris's reasoning for divulging all the stakeout and investigation notes to the mayor was basically revealed to be his desire to impress the mayor and get a promotion. His many acts of incompetence seemed to me to be… well, incompetence. It didn't seem that he'd want to make such a fool out of himself on purpose.

Eventually the judge granted a recess for lunch. Callahan instructed us that we would be returning to the academy and soon we were back at the campus of the police academy.

"Excuse me, Captain Callahan," I said, approaching her after everyone began heading for the cafeteria.

"Yes?"

"I was just wondering why we were brought to the courtroom today," I said.

She took her sunglasses out of her pocket and put them on.

"It is not enough that we teach cadets how to shoot, handcuff people and hold our own in hand-to-hand combat. It's painfully obvious in our precinct. You all need to know about honesty and integrity, about keeping what we do top-secret. You've now seen what happens when you _don't_ do that."

"But why make an example of Harris?" I asked. "I can't imagine the students ever letting him live it down. Especially for all those mistakes he made investigating that gang."

"If they can't let him live it down, they don't belong in uniform. There is a level of respect that is required for your superiors, no matter how you personally feel about them."

"Oh," I muttered. "It just seems tough to expect that when—"

"Are you saying that you've lost respect for Lieutenant Harris?" she questioned.

"I haven't," I replied, "but I can't speak for everyone else."

"That's right," she snapped back. "You can't, so don't do it. Just wait, Carnegie. You may be surprised how this will change things."

With that, she strode away from me, removing her police hat and adjusting her hair before entering the cafeteria.

* * *

**A/N: Please review!**


	26. Respect

**A/N: Thank you for the feedback! I have written and rewritten this chapter over and over again as well as the next couple! Please leave me some encouragement to get them out the door to post!**

**Chapter 26: Respect**

* * *

"Over here!" Mullers said, waving her hand. She and several other girls from D-squad were seated at a smaller table, and she'd saved a seat for me. I smiled and waved back before picking up my lunch from the buffet.

"So I guess the other squads will be attending the trial for the rest of this week," Mullers said. "C-Squad is tomorrow."

"I wish I could see it. I'd like to watch the cross-examination," Stiner said. "Obviously Lieutenant Harris is an unwilling witness for the defense. They're trying to use him to show that Harris's open stream of info and complete incompetence was not only inappropriate, but that it gave Mayor Thompson a wide open opportunity to do what he did. Like giving candy to a baby, who then was arrested for eating the candy."

"What will the prosecution do?" I asked.

"They'll probably show that the mayor extracted information from Harris, that maybe he blackmailed him or something. Maybe they'll try to show that the mayor may have threatened Harris's job if he didn't divulge."

I frowned.

"Geez, is Harris on trial or is Thompson on trial?"

"Well, that's the thing," Stiner replied. "Harris is the mole, and what he did was a major help to Thompson, perhaps the only way that the Wilson Heights Gang continued to commit crimes. I'll bet that if Thompson gets off, Harris might face charges."

My eyes almost bugged out of my head.

"What?"

"Oh, Carnegie, what do you care if Harris gets sent away?" Brookstone asked. "I've never felt so much animosity as what's between you two."

I chuckled, attempting to hide my automatic response of disbelief. Is that what people thought? Little did they know that three days ago, Harris had asked to have sex with me in his Corvette. I guess there were no Callahan-Bordeaux-like rumors floating around about Harris and me. Evidently everybody really thought Harris and I hated each other.

"Yeah, but it's kind of scary that just being a little too chatty with a non-cop can get you in trouble," I replied.

"It's kind of a relief, though, isn't it? Now we don't have to worry about Harris working us through the mornings."

* * *

We weren't able to go to the courtroom the next day, but Captain Callahan had us suit up in bathing suits and do a police chase in the water. It was easy to get the men motivated; she just had them chase after her in the pool.

It was great to be in the cool water on such a hot morning. In the center of the deep in-ground pool was the police academy emblem. Clearly it had been painted recently, because it was very bold and crisp, even with six or so feet of water above it. Near the pool was a sign denoting its hours, from dawn until dusk. There weren't enough hours in the day to find that kind of free time. I hadn't gone swimming in a pool since I'd moved out of my parents' house almost fifteen years ago. Needless to say, I had no bathing suit other than the academy-assigned suit that happened to be the most drab one-piece I'd ever seen. I happen to believe that Callahan had us swim only so she could show off her figure to the guys.

"Is Harris coming back?" I heard Norris asked Captain Callahan at one point.

"Yes," was her short reply.

"But he's a joke. He makes us look bad."

I had predicted that the students would lose respect for him, and I stared directly at Captain Callahan to give her a knowing look. She didn't look at me, of course.

"He doesn't know his ass from a hole in an armored truck," Norris jeered. "Strike that—it takes him at least five minutes to find a hole in an armored truck even when it's made right in front of him," he said with a guffaw. I heard Beaner giggle and then stop, presumably as Callahan shot him a look. I was still looking to flash a triumphant grin at Captain Callahan. I _knew_ that the cadets would lose respect for Harris.

"Why aren't you laughing, Captain?" Bordeaux said. "You know it's true."

"The only people with a right to make fun of Lieutenant Harris are those who would be comfortable having me grill them about their past," she growled. "Do you really want me dredging up your police record, hmm? How about your juvenile record?"

He blanched. Apparently his past wasn't spotless either. God knows mine had some dark marks.

"I didn't think so," Callahan added. "So shut up and be glad it was Harris and not you on the stand."

"You all threw him under the bus, making us watch that," Norris spat. "How am I supposed to respect a guy that you guys don't respect?"

This time I caught Callahan's eye. I gave her a knowing look while shaking my head. Her expression was unreadable.

"It was not my idea to bring cadets to the courthouse," Callahan said, looking far less confident now. "Commandant Lassard thought it would be a good idea. He is my boss."

"Well, don't expect me to treat Harris any better than you all do," Norris growled.

* * *

At lunch I sought out Gertrude, who revealed to me what C-squad had observed in the courtroom today.

"Sergeant Nick Lassard, the Commandant's nephew, was on the stand today," Gertrude explained. "He was really impressive. Did you know that he was the one to figure out the mayor's motive?"

"What was the motive?" I asked.

"Money," was her reply. I smiled at her—what a vague statement. Thankfully, she continued without my asking her to. "The new train route was still being worked on back then, and the mayor wanted to lower property values so he could buy up all the property there. Of course, once the train got finished, the values would go back up, the gang would be "caught" and he'd make a ton of money selling the property."

"Oh, was he the only one on the stand today?" I asked.

"No, Lieutenant Harris was there too," she said. "I guess it was his second day on the stand. I could hear him sighing as he stepped out of the witness box; he looked exhausted."

"How did he do?"

"Well, the prosecutors cross-examined him. I think they were trying to show that he was being blackmailed or bribed into providing the mayor with information, but it really didn't work. It looks like Lieutenant Harris told the mayor everything without any real pushing. I'd honestly be surprised if he comes back to work."

* * *

Lieutenant Harris sure had some guts, or else he was too dense or proud to see how much he'd been humiliated on the stand in front of the students. Immediately following lunch, he was waiting for us in the classroom, baton in hand, smirk on his face.

I was already seated when I watched Norris and Beaner walk into the classroom, obviously discussing Harris but not paying attention to who was inside the room.

"I predict that Harris won't even be able to sit down when he gets back; his ass got reamed so hard," Norris commented, laughing as Beaner began to crack up.

Harris jerked as if stung and straightened his back, clearly annoyed. Meanwhile, Brookstone leaned forward in her chair when she saw Norris walk in; now he had a captive audience. Oh God.

"_If_ he comes back," Beaner guffawed. "I still don't believe Captain Callahan. Who would come back after being, like, raped in front of everyone by that lawyer?"

"Is that right?" Harris quipped, slapping his baton across the palm of his hand. Beaner snapped his head forward, eyes widening with shock. Norris's eyes shot to Harris but he didn't look embarrassed. It was obvious that he'd lost all respect for the man, if he'd had any to begin with. Harris continued talking. "I can assure both of you dirtbags that you'll be begging to sit down tonight. You will report to the swimming pool immediately after dinner."

"But you're not supposed to swim after you eat," Beaner replied worriedly.

"Oh?" Harris said, grinning evilly. "I'm not sure I believe that, you see, so I'm going to do an experiment. And guess who my guinea pigs are gonna be?"

"That's just stupid," Norris groaned, crossing his arms. "Why should I listen to you? You're a joke."

Several other students walked in and began rubbernecking as they listened to the heated exchange between Harris and Norris. I shook my head. Norris had hinted at this out by the pool, and now he was going to act it out.

Harris's face reddened at the insult, but his voice remained eerily calm. It reminded me of his appearance after I'd slapped him across the face. Everyone in class stayed perfectly quiet.

"No one's laughing, Norris," Harris muttered through clenched teeth. "I'd recommend you watch your mouth from here on out."

"I'll definitely watch it better than you watched that diamond," Norris replied, a laugh seeping out between his teeth. Obviously he was referring to the armored truck incident. Beaner stayed silent from his seat. Norris's usual squadron audience was silent.

"That's enough," Harris said, signaling towards the door. "Go on, get outta here! Out!"

Norris stared at Lieutenant Harris but instead of walking out of the room, he took several steps toward Harris. He was a good five inches taller than Harris and glared down at him with hands at his sides. I watched Harris to see him blinking in disbelief, but standing his ground. The reaming he got in the courtroom probably hardened his resolve.

"Wanna make me?" Norris growled.

"I don't make trash; I burn it," Harris retorted. He thrust his finger towards the door. "Out, Norris!"

No movement from Norris. Was he going to… do something to Harris in front of us?

"See you at the unemployment line," Norris muttered. "Don't worry; you'll be there soon enough."

Suddenly Captain Callahan entered the room, followed by Bordeaux. Immediately she sensed that something was wrong by the close proximity in which Norris was standing to Harris.

"You gonna kiss him, Norris? If not, get out of his face," Callahan snarled. She grabbed his arm and wrenched him away from Harris.

"He was just on his way _out_ of the academy," Harris commented, looking more confident by the second, now that Norris was no longer in his face.

"Do you not know how to follow orders?" Callahan roared, glaring at Norris and releasing his arm. "Now, march!"

Norris glared at Harris and then left the room, leaving the rest of the class in shocked silence.

"Anyone else wanna leave today?" Harris snapped, his eyes scanning the room angrily. "Just say the word and you'll be done. Oh, and Beaner, you'll still be getting some swimming in tonight."

For the rest of the class period everyone was totally quiet. No one even raised their hand or whispered to each other. Harris went about teaching and writing on the board as if nothing was different, his voice and chalk squeaks the only sounds in the room.

I'll admit that I was surprised at Harris's complete self-control. Not only had he been embarrassed in the courtroom, but then Norris had just reminded him of that embarrassment in front of the D-squad. He had a shocking amount of inner strength, to keep going and teaching after that had happened. Frankly, I think I would've crawled into a shell. Just as class was going to let out, Harris finally addressed the confrontation between him and Norris.

"For those of you who saw what went on between me and Norris today, you should know that it's not my job to train all of you to be cops."

I saw several of the cadets make a face of confusion. Was this his resignation speech?

"Some of you aren't worthy to be cops—Mr. Norris and O'Malley being perfect examples of this," he continued. "Those of you who _are_ worthy will be bona fide police officers after you've completed this academy. You are not only to have the skills but also attitude and perseverance to be a cop. Now, loyalty is also important, but you don't get to see any of that around here."

With that, he glared at Captain Callahan, who stood near the door. She said nothing.

"Yes, _loyalty_," he snapped, turning quickly on his heel to face the classroom. "It's two different things, gluing someone's ass to a chair, and attempting to humiliate them in front of their students. What do _you_ think, Captain Callahan?"

She seemed taken aback at his aggressive statement, and fidgeted in place.

"You're right, Lieutenant Harris," she said, nodding crisply.

He jerked as if stung by the comment but said nothing.

"Will this be on the test?" Fenster asked, waving his chubby arm in the air.

Harris rolled his eyes.

"Shut up, dirtbag." He turned to Beaner. "Beaner, you are to report to the poolside right after dinner. The rest of you are dismissed until tomorrow."

"Awesome," I heard a couple of cadets mutter, obviously relieved. A smile appeared on Harris's face.

"I advise using your break to rest up for a nice visit at 0700 hours with the obstacle course."

Harris didn't even say "dismissed" or hear us all groan before he angrily stalked out of the room, moving right past Captain Callahan without a word.


	27. Very Inpatient

**A/N: I'm so glad you are enjoying this story, charley vandra, Katrina Connors, and shelle007! (note: the chapter title is a pun!) ****Please let me know what you think!**

**Chapter 27: Very Inpatient**

* * *

"Move it, move it, move it!" Harris yelled. We slogged through the obstacle course, the sun already ridiculously hot at 8:00 in the morning. We'd only been outside for an hour but it felt like the whole day had passed. Harris had his bullhorn and was doubly as loud—and annoying—as normal. The air had what I guessed had to be 80% humidity and I cursed myself for not remembering to drink something when I woke up. I had literally rolled out of bed, threw on my clothes, and ran to the squadron's meeting place outside, my alarm barely able to wake me on time.

Captain Callahan ran alongside the cadets, and I noticed her lingering a little too long around Bordeaux. Beaner wanted to keep up with them, but was clearly worn down from whatever he'd had to endure from the previous evening. Callahan was so strange and strict. I couldn't understand how a woman could stick out her weighed-down chest and run while still maintaining perfect balance. Her sunglasses made it impossible to tell what or _who_ she was looking at. Even so, sweat was matting down her hair and her face was as shiny as Harris's baton. I wondered what she thought of Harris after his courtroom and classroom antics, because she had never bothered to address either to D-squad. Maybe he'd put her in her place. Maybe he didn't. Obviously no one would ever know her thoughts as long as she left her sunglasses on.

Mullers and Stiner eventually began to outpace me, and I allowed myself to fall behind by a few steps, which extended into half the course within a few more minutes. Unlike me, Mullers had brought along a bottle of water and drank it every couple of minutes, until eventually she threw it off to the side of the course. Damn. She'd finished the whole bottle. My head ached more and more with each step and I managed to sneak around the climbing wall while no one was watching. I slowed down to half that pace when my legs started to kill me. I just felt… ill. Although breakfast was at 9, I didn't feel much like eating—just drinking water—lots and lots of it. I glanced back at Fenster to see he looked like death warmed over. He was pouring out sweat and his shirt made him look like he'd just swam in the pool with his clothes on. Even Harris had sweat stains under his armpits as he held the bullhorn up.

I wasn't sweating. My navy blue sweatpants and t-shirt were bone dry and I threw my baseball cap off, noticing that it wasn't moist either. It was odd. Instead my skin felt hot. This couldn't be right. I vowed to talk to Lieutenant Harris the next time I went by him.

I continued on for several minutes, my heart thudding in my ears. I felt like I was driving on a hot asphalt road with a mirage ahead of me on the pavement, a mirage of rippling water, though this time it was on the dirt path. When I approached what I'd hoped was a puddle, it wasn't there. And I still wasn't sweating.

"Captain Harris," I said, slowing myself down as I moved toward him, not bothering to correct my verbal slip-up. Besides, it was odd enough that my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth. "Can I get some water?"

"You probably can," he said, putting down his bullhorn, "but you _may_ not do so." He looked at his watch. "Suck it up for… nine more minutes then we're taking a break."

"Please, I don't feel well," I responded, putting my hands on my bare knees. "I'm… dry."

"Maybe it's just not that time of the month," he joked, grinning at me.

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, making my way for the course. He certainly had forgotten all about propositioning me… unless that had been a way to embarrass me. What an asshole. I stared straight ahead as I began to run once again and the course started to shake. It was very much like when I was extremely angry and the adrenaline was rushing, but I wasn't angry, just worried.

Captain Callahan lapped me, the two male cadets now following her and checking out the view.

"Captain Callahan!" I said, panting, a second after she passed me. "Can I take a break?"

"You heard Harris," she replied, not even bothering to look at me. "Nine more minutes."

I rolled my eyes long enough to lose my footing and fall. I hadn't felt my body hitting the ground and yet it refused to get back up. Captain Callahan continued to run, most likely so distracted by those damn sunglasses and the male attention that she hadn't heard me slam into the ground. Maybe she was still ticked off with me for pointing out that watching Harris on the stand had been wrong. It didn't matter, though; all that mattered was that I felt…. Bad. Everyone was already past me and no one would see me here—except Harris.

I stayed on the ground on my hands and knees, feeling the dry dirt on my hands. What the hell did running across tires and climbing a rope wall have to do with being a cop? I didn't have the stamina to do this day in and day out. It was the third day of week 2, but it felt like the beginning of week 1. I would never make it through this program.

"On your feet, Carnegie!" Harris shouted through his bullhorn. I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling. It amused him to see me in misery. I gritted my teeth. There was no way I was walking one more step on this stupid obstacle course. I pulled myself to my feet, and feeling the blood leave my head, I stumbled off the course. If I could get to the lake, I'd drink that water, sickness be damned. The other cadets had long since passed me and thankfully I heard no pitying comments as I wandered away from the course. I didn't even hear Harris, even though I figured he had to have seen me leave.

I walked toward the lake, which shone off in the distance, cold, fresh water. I felt delirious but I knew once I got some water I'd be just fine again. A wave of nausea went through my body but I kept walking as the sun beat down on my head. Maybe I'd die out here today, I thought. I wondered who would come to my funeral. Probably just Mullers, Stiner, and Manson. Eh, never mind; they probably wouldn't get excused by Harris to come. I closed my eyes.

* * *

"Carnegie! Carnegie!" a voice yelled, indistinct but panicked. My eyes seemed to be glued shut and held closed with a brick on top of each eyelid. "Damn it to hell," it growled. I felt a slap to my face. It just didn't matter anymore.

I felt my body being dragged along the ground by my feet. Once I stopped being dragged, the sun shining on my face was gone. It was far cooler here but my eyes still refused to open.

"Open your eyes, damn it!" the voice cursed, slapping my face again. Ow. I winced at the pain but my hand wouldn't move to touch it.

"I knew you were just kidding around. Now, get up," the voice said. I felt a baton rap me on my hand but I could do nothing but lay there helplessly.

"Not again!" the voice cried. "Get up, Carnegie!"

I couldn't move. After a short time, I felt hands reach under my body and in the process of attempting to lift me, the hands touched the skin of my waist.

"Damn, you're dry as a bone," the voice noted, as the hands pulled away, leaving me on the grass. "Why aren't you sweatin' like a pig in this heat?" The hand moved to under my armpit to find nothing.

"Lieutenant Harris!" a squeaky voice exclaimed from a distance away. "What's going on over there?"

"_Thank you_ for remembering my new title, but just get me some water, Hooks," was the impatient reply.

"What is it?"

"No sweat," was his terse response.

"Well, if it's no sweat, why were you yelling?"

"No. I mean, she's not sweating," Harris clarified. "Just go get me some damn water."

"_Boshma blarg hawna_," I heard. Then I heard nothing else.

* * *

I woke up to the sound of rhythmic beeps and the feel of something lightweight on my body. When I opened my eyes, I discovered that I was in the hospital. An IV bag was positioned by the bed and its tubes ran into veins on the top of my right hand. I was wearing a hospital gown and some fuzzy slipper socks. Everything was too white and too sterile. Just a moment ago I had been under the care of what I assumed to be Lieutenant Harris, who had sent Hooks to get water. How in the world had I ended up here?

I saw two bouquets of flowers by the bed, and I attempted to read the cards stuck inside them, but I couldn't extend my arms because of the IV lines. Sighing, I pulled the covers up and felt around the hospital bed for the nurse button. I needed to know how long I'd been here and how I'd even gotten here.

I found the button and jammed my thumb into it. I could hear a little bing as the nurse's station was probably notified. Even so, it took another couple of minutes before a nurse showed up.

"You're awake, Miss Carnegie. How do you feel?" the nurse asked me.

"Confused," I replied. "How the hell did I get here?"

"You don't remember?" she asked. "Wait—let me get the head nurse on duty. I'd read your charts for you, but I wasn't here when you were admitted."

"Wait—how long ago was I admitted? Is it not Wednesday?" I questioned, feeling more and more anxious.

"You were admitted yesterday morning," she commented. "It's now Thursday at 7 pm. Your parents were here earlier today but you weren't awake yet."

"Oh my God," I exclaimed. "What happened to me?"

"Yes—one second, Miss. Let me fetch her for you. Just one moment."

With that, she headed out of my room. She brought in another nurse shortly afterwards.

"Hello, Miss Carnegie, you were admitted yesterday morning for heatstroke," the second nurse explained. "Your body temperature was really high and you were dehydrated. We've been rehydrating you with an IV since it occurred and it seems to be working well. How are you feeling?"

"When can I leave? I don't have insurance for this," I explained.

"The police academy's insurance is paying, being as this happened while you were on their grounds," the nurse replied. "We'll probably be letting you out tomorrow morning."

"I need to get out of here," I grumbled. "I feel fine."

"I think one of your friends has been waiting to see you. Would you like to see her?"

I nodded. With that, the nurse left the room and fetched someone. It was Mullers.

"April!" she exclaimed. "Man, we've all been really worried about you. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," I replied. "I want to go home. This is a waste of my time."

"You did look really lousy yesterday. I'll never complain about sweating again," she said. "Obviously it beats the alternative."

"How did I get here?"

"Well, I didn't actually see you go," she explained. "Harris disappeared but I didn't think much of it. I didn't even realize you were gone until breakfast, then I saw the ambulance outside."

"So an ambulance took me here? God, I don't remember anything," I muttered, lifting up my left arm and touching my face. "I suck at running," I grumbled. "I'm not fit to be a cop."

"It was really too hot to run. And Fenster got sick too. He got dizzy and threw up all over the cafeteria and ended up spending the rest of the evening in the infirmary. So don't feel bad."

"Did you get to see my parents when they were here?"

"Actually, yeah, I did," she said. "They told me to give this letter to you when you woke up."

"Huh," I muttered. It was my name but my parents' address, and it was registered mail. I wasn't expecting anything like that. I put it off to the side for the time being. I'd been living on my own for years, though I guess I_ was_ changing apartments at the end of every lease. Guess this was the only way to ensure that a close relation of mine got my mail.

"I'll open it later," I said. "Is this the Metropolitan Hospital?"

She nodded.

"Who sent me the flowers? I can't move my stupid arm because of all these IVs," I muttered.

"Lemme see for you." Mullers stood up and walked around the bed, leaning in towards the arrangements to read their little cards. "One's from your parents. The other one…. It doesn't have a name on the card. Huh."

"That's weird," I muttered. "Oh well, guess I'll never know."

"I'm so glad you're awake but I was just about to head back," Mullers said. "They had us drive a police car on an obstacle course yesterday and today and we get to do lifesaving exercises in the pool tonight. Actually, I think Harris is giving an _exam_ on the driving tomorrow—I wonder if you'll have to take it with us."

"Great," I muttered. "I get to fall behind even more."

"Eh, I'm sure you'll catch up quick. I'll let everyone know you're okay," she said. "Do you know when you'll be getting out of here?"

"Supposedly tomorrow," I groaned. "I have so much more important crap to do than this."

"Well, at least you have a TV in your room," she said, pointing to the tiny 13 inch screen that was at least ten feet away from me.

"Ha," I muttered. "See you tomorrow."

As Mullers left the room, I sighed. I would never be ready for the test tomorrow. The extent of my driving was what I could manage while I had possession of the Corsica, which wasn't much. It figures that I had to miss something not involving running.

I picked up the registered mail from the bed next to me and tore it open. It was dated for four days ago. Why the hell hadn't my parents bothered to open it and call me about it? Hopefully this wasn't some collection agency that was supposed to be paid off yesterday. Rolling my eyes, I pulled several papers inside out of the envelope and held them up in front of me. Oh my God. I was being _sued_ for something called conversion by my ex! Guess the asshole was putting his damn poli sci major to good use!

"Shit," I muttered. The court date was less than a week away. I didn't even have a lawyer. "Shit shit shit."

"Language, Carnegie," a voice warned.

My eyes shot over to the doorway to see the last person I'd expected to be at the hospital: Lieutenant Harris. He was standing by the entrance to my room dressed in his police uniform including his police hat. Thankfully, he didn't seem to have that damn baton with him.

My mind blanked at how I should address him, so I just looked over at him.

"What are you doing here?" I blurted.

"Checking up," he explained, his eyes darting around the hospital hallway before he stepped into my hospital room. "You are, after all, my responsibility as a member of my squadron. Now, what are you _shit shit shit_-ing about?"

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm getting sued by my ex for conversion, whatever the hell that is," I spat, throwing the papers down on the bed.

"That's civil-talk for theft, Carnegie," he explained. "Guess he wasn't a fan of you stealing his car."

"I don't even have a lawyer!" I yelled. "And the stupid hearing or whatever is next week! He's going to drain me of my life savings!"

"He can only get as much as the value of the car. Your family's loaded; I'm sure they'll—"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm on my own," I cut in, glaring at him. "I sit in jail alone, I sit in the hospital alone, I sleep alone. I got nobody."

He opened his arms with a big smile.

"Welcome to my world, Carnegie," he said, smiling sarcastically. I could almost taste the unspoken bitterness in the air. Even so, I couldn't pity him when I was too busy pitying myself. With my embarrassing failure on the obstacle course and an actual lawsuit against me, I'd hit rock bottom.


	28. Rock Bottom

**A/N: Thank you so so much guys! Shelle007! Katrina Connors! Charley Vandra! I'm so grateful for your feedback and I am even more excited to post!**

**Chapter 28: Rock Bottom**

* * *

I heard a light knock on the doorframe and a nurse appeared in the doorway.

"Miss Carnegie, your mother called the nurses' station," she said. "She wanted to remind you to open your registered mail."

"Right, thanks," I muttered. She made a move to go but I spoke up again.

"I'm feeling fine now, as you can see," I blurted. "Can I be released tonight?"

She gave me a face of pity, and I knew what she would say.

"I'm sorry, Miss, but the doctor won't be in until tomorrow. He wants to examine you in the morning."

"There's no need," I said. "I've already been in here two days."

"I'm sorry; there's nothing I can do," she replied. With that, she hastily turned around and left the room.

As soon as the nurse left the room, Harris frowned at me, crossing his arms. "Why didn't you tell me you felt like passing out?" he demanded. He actually was angry at me for falling ill. "If I'd've known you were—"

"I didn't know I was going to pass out," I interrupted. "I just saw that I wasn't sweating, which isn't normal. When I said I was dry, you made some nasty comment."

His eyes were locked on the IVs running into my arm and I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. I heard him sigh and then his eyes moved to the flowers by my bedside.

"I'm sorry about all this, Carnegie," he muttered, still unable to look at me. With that, he thrust his hands in his pants pockets.

I took in a breath and held it. Had those words really left his mouth?

"It's not your fault," I replied, the shock of his apology causing me to choke on my words. "I should've drank more water that morning, or brought a bottle like Mullers did."

He said nothing. Another silence passed between us. I had to fill this awkwardness with something, because it was driving me nuts.

"So, uh, shouldn't you be at the academy showing the students lifesaving stuff in the pool?"

"Nah, I let Callahan do that," he replied. "I'm not a big swimmer."

"Is it true that we're getting tested on obstacle course driving tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yeah. Think you'll be ready?" he asked, looking at me knowingly.

I shook my head.

"This stupid hospital is a waste of my time," I grumbled. "I want to go back to the academy and maybe I'll get a chance to practice before the exam. I haven't even seen the course yet."

"You really wanna leave tonight?" he asked.

I sighed.

"Yes."

"Lemme go talk to the nurses."

"I just did that," I muttered. "You saw what they said."

"I got more clout," he said. "Just you wait."

I watched him leave the room and rolled my eyes. As if Harris could convince the hospital to release me early!

* * *

I sat next to Lieutenant Harris in his Corvette, still shocked that whatever he'd done had worked, and a bit perked up that I was able to be in this car again. He fumbled around with the keys as we sat in the hospital's parking garage. I remembered his proposition about the vehicle and felt myself blush. Apparently it hadn't taken much for him to get me out of the hospital. Just a couple of minutes after he'd left my room, a couple of nurses had come in, measured my blood pressure and temperature, and then left, only to return shortly to free me from my IV bondage. What had he said to them?

"Lieutenant Harris," I said, "how did you get me out early?"

"I told 'em that no one was willing to pay for your stay tonight. I guess a potential loss of money is all it takes to get the ball rolling around here."

"So it's not because of your clout?" I asked, teasing him.

"Money talks," he said. "A lot louder than I do."

The sun was setting now—it was already 8 or so. I'd lost two whole days of my life being unconscious. Damn. I glanced in the back of the car at the two flower arrangements from my hospital room, placed carefully on two towels and a layer of plastic. What was I going to do with them? Of course I had no keys on me to drop them off at my apartment.

"What's wrong?" Harris said.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do with those flowers," I said, turning back around. "I have no place to put them, and I'm not setting foot in the academy with them. I should've left that other arrangement in the room. It's probably not even for me—it didn't have a name on it."

"It is for you," he replied.

"How would you know?" I asked, annoyed as his presumptuousness.

"Because it's from me."

* * *

"Uh, why?" I sputtered, my face heating up.

"You telling me I gotta have a reason?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied, nodding. "Otherwise, it makes no sense."

Harris put his key in the ignition and started the car.

"Well, you know how to keep your mouth shut," he admitted. He looked over at me briefly before turning to face forward again. "And you did defend me against Mahoney."

"Just being in the Corvette again is nice enough," I admitted, a little smile on my face as I rubbed my hand on the leather of the passenger seat. The interior of the car actually seemed to gleam in the dark. I was glad that he took such good care of such a possession; being in a beat-up Corvette wouldn't be the same. "Why did you take this car here?"

"Why not?" he explained. "This hunk of metal is the best damn thing I got and I might as well enjoy it. Especially after that shit-storm in court."

"And next week it's my shit-storm." I scoffed. "_Conversion_. Tony's an asshole and I'm an idiot."

"Oh, right, that," he huffed. "You know, I got this lawyer friend that might be able to help you," he said. "Keeps late hours at his office. Wanna swing by there before heading back to the academy? We may very well catch him."

"Okay," I said, stunned by his helpfulness. I bowed my head, embarrassed. "Why are you… helping me?"

"You can't afford to miss more days at the academy. Once you got a lawyer squared away, you'll be set."

I felt myself blush.

"Thanks, Lieutenant Harris," I muttered, unable to look at him.

"Ugh, you know how hard I worked to get _above_ that title?" he grumbled. "Hell, just call me Thaddeus for now. I'd rather not be reminded of that damn demotion every time I'm addressed."

* * *

Harris pulled up to what appeared to be a home with a sign in the front yard denoting this place as the Law Office of J. Andrews. He had taken off his seatbelt and turned off the car, but I hadn't moved. He signaled for me to stay in the car as he climbed out and strode up to the front door. As soon as he knocked on the door, all the lights on the first floor went out. Ouch. Apparently Harris's friendship with this lawyer was one-way.

After a couple of minutes of knocking, Harris walked back to the car, his hands in his pockets, looking shockingly defeated. He got back in the car and turned to me.

"Looks like they just closed for the night," he muttered. He checked his watch. "Eight nineteen. Odd time for it. Huh."

"That's fine," I cut in, disappointed. I sighed and crossed my arms, prepared to go back to the academy and field five hundred questions about my fainting spell.

"You feelin' okay?" It was the third time he'd asked it since we'd left the hospital.

"Yeah," I muttered, my voice obviously impatient. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

"'Cause I'll probably get investigated for your passing out—and for Fenster too—he blew chunks in front of Lassard and everyone. Gotta make sure it don't happen _again_."

Now I understood the flowers. He was bribing me. I didn't say anything about it, however. My train of thought was temporarily interrupted by the sound of an alarm. It wasn't a police alarm or fire alarm, but it was definitely close by. It almost sounded like a security system.

"Why would _you_ get investigated for what happened to me?" I asked, raising my voice over the outside noise. "You were the one to get me into the shade and to get water." I blinked, realizing what I was saying. Even so, I continued. "If anything, you saved me.… again."

"You'd say that?!" Harris stammered, referring to my comment. He rolled his eyes as the alarm continued to blare.

"It's the truth," I said, watching the law office for signs of life.

"I'm holding you to this," he muttered, shaking his finger at me. "I need something good said on my behalf. The academy—hell, even Proctor—threw me to the wolves."

"I know," I murmured, looking down at the dashboard. I couldn't make eye contact. The alarm continued to go off in the distance. It was getting really annoying now.

"What do you mean, you know?" he countered. I turned my head to look at him. Now he was narrowing his eyes at me, his eyes scanning my face.

"It was wrong for them to take us cadets to the courtroom," I said. "I_ told_ Captain Callahan that as we were leaving that day."

"You did?" He was still gaping at me in disbelief.

I nodded, and then overcome with embarrassment, I looked to the front of the car again, most definitely blushing. I let out a long sigh. Why had I even told him that? I wasn't a kiss-ass; far from it.

"I think you may very well be the only person on my side," he muttered, his voice low. He sighed, and I saw his shoulders fall.

There was no way that Harris's arrogance would allow him to admit to something so depressing in a normal situation. He just sat there, staring unblinkingly as a curtain shook in one window of the law office. Obviously someone inside was checking to see if we had left yet. Harris said nothing but the look on his face was one of grim acceptance. The alarm continued to blare, and he wasn't even acknowledging it anymore. I think that was exactly when Lieutenant Harris hit rock bottom.

* * *

I knew exactly how he felt. I'd also hit rock bottom tonight, brought to me by a 2-day hospital stay for my present stupidity and a lawsuit to make me pay for my past stupidity. Not only that, but the stupid alarm going off in the distance and the dark law office in front of us cemented this lousy moment as the low point. Harris and I were both in the same place in our lives at the same time. There was nowhere to go but up from here. Even so, I had a good deal of stupidity to use up, and I began to do so in my very next question.

"Um, Thaddeus," I began, to have him turn toward me with a surprised expression and a grunt of recognition. I guess he hadn't actually expected me to refer to him in that way—I hadn't expected to do it either. Now that I had his attention, I continued my question.

"Does your earlier proposition still stand?"


	29. Girl Interrupted

**A/N: Thank you Shelle007, charley vandra, Katrina Connors, and Anon-con for your encouraging and kind feedback! I'm sorry this chapter took a little while to post! I rewrote this part a couple of times until I felt it was just right!**

**Chapter 29: Girl Interrupted**

* * *

Oh. My. God. I had just propositioned Lieutenant Thaddeus Arrogant Asshole Harris. Apparently he was just as surprised as I was, because his eyes grew to the size of saucers and his jaw went slack.

"What are you talkin' about?" he asked, his Texas drawl quite obvious.

"You know… what you said the other night… in the warehouse," I heard myself mutter, bowing my head, my face as hot as the sun. I couldn't look directly at him. Harris, on the other hand, gaped at me, his face reddening. I could see the incredulous expression on his face at my explanation. No words were spoken.

When I found the courage to look directly at him, I saw that his eyes were searching my face for some sign that I was joking.

"You tryin' to screw with me?" he said, clearly suspicious. I didn't know what to say to that, and it was obvious he'd used the wrong wording. He stammered and turned redder yet as he clarified his question, turning forward and then back towards me. "What I meant to say was… you serious?"

_Was_ I serious? The sudden quickening of my heartbeat and breathing as he leaned towards me seemed to suggest that I was. My throat dried out, and I opened and closed my mouth with no sound. My eyes kept falling away from his intense gaze and I could feel my face heating up. No way in hell was I going to verbally answer his question, but my body seemed to be doing the job for me.

Static coming from Harris's two-way radio caused me to nearly jump out of my skin.

"Metropolitan Precinct 19, all units report to a two-eleven in progress at the Gold 'N Guns pawn shop on Clark and Ninth." Harris looked glumly at me, then sighed and proceeded to start the car, a grimace on his face as his shoulders relaxed.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Didn't you just hear the radio, Carnegie?" he snapped, keeping his eyes straight ahead and pulling on his seatbelt. "There's an armed robbery in progress about two blocks from here. That's probably what that blarin' alarm is all about."

"But you're not even in your police car."

"So?"

"I mean, you're wearing your uniform, but you're not on duty—you know, visiting me in the hospital, your Corvette, going to this lawyer guy," I corrected.

"Wrong," he replied. "A cop is always on duty."

Harris put the car in gear and began to speed off toward the address as I sat, totally confused.

* * *

Harris pulled into the parking lot of the pawn shop with his lights off. No other cops had yet arrived, but the store's alarm was still blaring. I was still mortified about the earlier question and Harris's cut-off response. What would have happened if he hadn't brought his two-way radio? Would we have… gotten lucky in front of that rude lawyer's office?

"Get down, Carnegie," Harris growled. I obeyed, sinking low into the seat so that I could barely see through the windshield. I did, however, see movement out of the passenger side window. I rolled the window down a couple of inches to hear what was going on outside the car.

Just as Harris stopped the car, two men ran out of the pawn shop and sprinted towards a car about thirty feet away. They wore gray jumpsuits and tall military boots but nothing covering their faces. The first guy had a beard and brown hair and the second guy had what looked to be black hair in a buzz cut. I'd probably have to pick them out of a lineup soon, because I definitely _saw_ them. Harris reached under the seat, pulling out his .38. I guess I should have expected that he'd stock his Corvette with all his cop stuff. He flung open the door and moved around the front of the Corvette. Harris must have been desperate for redemption to take his flashy car to the scene of an active crime.

"Stop in the name of the law! This is the police!" Harris yelled shrilly, gun in hand. His voice was all but drowned out by the shrieking of the store's alarm.

"Shit! He saw us!" one of the fleeing robbers hissed. The two thieves jumped in the car and started the car up with a roar of smoke. As the car lurched forward with a loud screech, Harris lifted up his weapon, holding it steady with two hands, and took aim at the retreating car.

"Freeze, sleazeballs!" Harris shouted, beginning to run towards the car. "Surrender now and you will not be hurt!"

He fired his weapon, which caused the front of the car to sink into a shower of sparks. He'd blown out the car's right front tire and it was now riding on its rim. Apparently I'd underestimated Lieutenant Harris's ability with a gun.

Suddenly, the retreating car skidded to a stop. As its tires screeched to a halt, its passenger window slowly rolled down and I saw an arm emerge from the window, an arm holding a pistol. I sank further into the car seat so that only the top of my head and eyes would be visible in the window. _Holy shit._

"…But he could be a witness!" one of the robbers yelled. "I'm taking him out!"

"I'm having no part of it!" another voice yelled back. "You shoot a cop, you're on your own!"

I saw Harris's arms shoot up in the air in surrender just as a shot rang out. Harris yelled in pain, falling backwards and letting out a loud _oof_ as his back hit the pavement. He flailed his arms about as he tried to right himself, his gun still in his hand. I was reminded of a turtle stranded on its back and felt sick to my stomach. Harris had been shot and I was a sitting duck in a car fifty yards or so away.

"Your loss; I'm taking the 'Vette!" the shooter shouted, jumping out of the car and striding towards Harris's car, gun in hand, a big smile on his face. He turned to his partner in crime, who was still in the car. "Don't wait up," he added.

Immediately the getaway car began spinning its tires again as it attempted to flee the lot. I was frozen with fear, still sitting in the passenger seat of Harris's car. Damn. I'd never be a good cop. I couldn't help Lieutenant Harris. I couldn't get out of the car. I could barely breathe.

"Looks like you need another shot," the criminal muttered, looking towards Harris as he walked toward the Corvette.

Suddenly I saw red and blue flashing off of the nearby buildings. Of course the cops had to be seconds too late. Not one but three police cars turned into the parking lot simultaneously, thudding over the curb and ramming head-on into the front of the fleeing car, shoving it back into the parking lot. The police cars' headlights lit up the scene unfolding in the parking lot and they turned off their sirens but left their red and blue lights on. The store's alarm finally stopped blaring, and my ears were thankful.

Now that it wasn't too loud for me to think, I caught sight of the man in the driver's seat jump out of the getaway car and take off in the opposite direction. I watched what looked like Proctor get out of his squad car and tackle the man running past his vehicle, causing him to crash face-first into the ground. I looked back over at Harris, seeing that the man who'd been heading for the Corvette was now headed straight for Harris. Harris was still struggling on the ground, putting his left hand over what seemed to be a shot to his right shoulder.

"Freeze!" a voice yelled, amplified by a bullhorn. The voice sounded familiar, but my focus was on what was going to happen to Lieutenant Harris. "Put your weapon on the ground!"

The man ignored the commands and dove towards Harris, grabbing him and yanking him to his knees, wrapping an arm around Harris's upper body. As he did so, the criminal squatted behind him like a coward, putting Harris's body in between his and the police cars. Harris dropped his gun onto the pavement and remained as stiff as a board with arms straight down at his sides, the criminal's arm moving toward his neck, basically putting him in a head lock. Suddenly the parking lot lights buzzed to life and I could see the whites of Harris's widened eyes as the pawn shop robber put his pistol against Harris's temple and cocked it.

It was then that I saw Captain Mahoney in one of the squad cars, holding his bullhorn above his slightly opened window and speaking again. From inside the car, another cop aimed a spotlight at Harris and his captor.

"You are surrounded. Put down your weapon and get on the ground," Mahoney's voice bellowed through the bullhorn.

"I'm going to that car right there!" the man yelled, standing up and pulling Harris up with him as he pointed right at me—right at the Corvette! "If you try to stop me, the midget gets another bullet!"

Harris wasn't much of a shield, only reaching the criminal's shoulder height. I didn't understand why the cops couldn't just shoot the man in the head; there was definitely nothing protecting it.

"The car's all yours—just let him go," Mahoney said through the bullhorn. I saw Proctor shoving the other, now apprehended, robber into his squad car. After he'd shut the door, he and another officer ducked behind the front of their car, aiming their guns at the hostage-taker. I'd never seen the other officer before, but he was a chubby, twitchy sort of guy with oddly long hair.

"What the hell is Zed doing here?" Harris choked out, pointing at the nervous-looking cop, who then waved hyperactively. "Don't you dare let that nincompoop aim a gun at me!"

"Hi!" the twitchy man shouted in an obnoxious, shrill voice, continuing to wave. I rolled my eyes. How did this spaz get through the police academy, when I couldn't even make it through the second week without ending up in the hospital?

Before Harris could respond, the robber's arm tightened around his neck, causing his eyes to bug out even more. I saw Harris looking anxiously toward the Corvette and I wondered what he was thinking about—the car being taken from him, or the fact that I was still inside it?

"C'mon, buddy, we'll let you go but you gotta release your hostage first," Mahoney called out through the bullhorn.

"I got nothin' to lose by shooting him!" the criminal screamed, dragging Harris towards the Corvette as Harris attempted to dig his heels in to the pavement. "This little piggy's gonna go wee wee wee all the way home!"

"But you have so much to gain in _not_ shooting him," Mahoney replied through the bullhorn. "A getaway car—not just a getaway car, but a really sweet Corvette. C'mon, man; let him go now and it's yours."

He pulled Harris closer and closer to the Corvette as I sunk into the seat, frozen with fear. Would he shoot me right away or would he use me as a hostage for the second leg of his escape?

I could see Harris all wide-eyed shaking his head silently towards Mahoney, his speech prevented by the hold across his neck.

"Unload your weapons first!" the hostage-taking robber yelled out. "Throw your clips under your cars and toss your guns down too! I can't be sure that right when I release him, one of you assholes won't squeeze off a couple of shots!" He pointed at Zed. "Especially that twitchy one over there!"

"Hey, I resent that!" Zed yelled back, his voice and pronunciation very strange, his eyes going wide and then narrow as he gritted his teeth. Honestly, I didn't blame the robber for wanting to disarm him.

Mahoney gave a signal, and all the cops complied, tossing their clips and bullets under the squad cars, yet Harris was still shaking his head. What the hell?

"Get out of the car, bullhorn and floodlight!" the robber yelled to Mahoney and his partner. "I want to see your hands! Guns unloaded and on the ground as well!"

Both Mahoney and his partner got out of the squad car and after emptying their weapons and putting them on the ground, they stood at the side of their vehicle, their arms held halfway up. This seemed to satisfy the robber, who promptly released Lieutenant Harris and flung himself on the ground in front of Harris's Corvette.

I glanced over nervously at the open door, then at the ignition to see the keys dangling there, just waiting for the Corvette to be taken. I was frozen in place. Should I take the keys? Could I run him over? I didn't know how to drive a stick shift—hell, I didn't even know how to shift it out of being parked—ha, it didn't even have a PARK gear to shift out of.

I heard the scraping of shoes on pavement and I peeked over the window to see Lieutenant Harris staggering away from the Corvette. So he'd abandoned me in favor of safety. Coward.

The driver side door creaked as the handle was lifted, and my eyes went wide as I grabbed the passenger side door handle and _nothing happened_—_door's jammed,_ _shit shit shit_

I heard the clattering of something on the pavement, and saw Harris picking up his gun. He aimed it steadily at the Corvette. He couldn't very well shoot the robber through the passenger side window; he'd hit me! I was now the perfect hostage.

* * *

"You in here the whole time?" a voice remarked, and I turned my eyes to the left to see the robber sitting in the seat next to me. Not only did I see his face and some strange tattoo on his neck, but I saw his gun. "It don't matter, cause you ain't gonna be here much longer. Sorry you gotta die this way. Wrong place, wrong time, you know?"

As he began to raise his pistol towards my head, a shot rang out and I heard a ricochet of metal on metal. Had Harris shot the car? What _was_ that? I couldn't tell. All that mattered was that in response to the gunshot, the robber was caught off-guard. Escaping being shot was suddenly more important than shooting me. He tucked his gun under the seat so that he could use the gearshift. Thank God the Corvette was manual transmission.

Hastily, he turned the key in the ignition and shifted the car into reverse, flooring the gas as I was flung forward forcefully in my seat. As my head slammed into the glove compartment, I saw stars. I also noticed that none of the responding officers were doing a damn thing!

I grabbed the door handle and yanked it as hard as I could, gritting my teeth with exertion. I heard the robber beside me laugh.

"I already killed one guy tonight who wouldn't listen," he remarked. "Wanna live a couple more minutes? Get your goddamn hand away from the door."

I promptly put my hand on my lap, terrified. Who had he killed? Was his victim inside the pawn shop? And what did he mean by a couple more minutes?

* * *

**Please review! **


	30. Tables Turned

**A/N: Thank you shelle007, Katrina Connors, and charley vandra. I wanted to get this next chapter out there quickly! Something very good happens in this chapter to Lieutenant Harris!**

**Chapter 30: Tables Turned**

* * *

"Don't let him get away!" Harris yelled, taking several steps toward the vehicle, pointing at it with his free hand.

"If he totals it, we'll get you a new car, Lieutenant," Mahoney said through the bullhorn. "I'm radioing ahead to get a roadblock installed to stop him."

"It's not that; someone's _in_ the car!" Harris yelled again. "It might be too late then!"

"Yeah, the robber! Who do you think's driving it, _nincompoop_?!" Zed yelled, pointing twitchily. Would his grating voice be the last thing I ever heard?

Suddenly, the robber jerked the wheel to cause the Corvette to turn sharply to the right, as he changed gears to go forward. I felt panicked at the sight of the unarmed cops—none of them could help me! Not only that, but Zed's stupid comment had confused them, and Harris hadn't had time to reply. As I watched the scene unfolding, the seconds passed by like minutes.

Harris was still aiming his gun, and I could see even from this distance that he was grimacing. He was my only hope, but in order to do anything, he would have to shoot his beloved car.

A loud pop from his gun and I heard air hissing loudly as the front of the car seemed to sink. Harris had shot out the tire of his own Corvette!

"Zed, you imbecile, I'm sayin' a _cadet's_ in the car!" Harris growled as he prepared to shoot again. Finally it seemed as if the other cops understood what he was saying, and immediately fell to the ground to retrieve their clips from under their cars.

Another shot and Harris shot out the rear tire as well. This didn't seem to deter the robber, who continued to floor the gas even though the car was obviously in too low a gear. I saw sparks and smoke around the vehicle as the robber skidded out while trying to speed away.

"Stop, damn it! You're gonna bend the damn rims!" Harris yelled, cocking his weapon again.

Because its two passenger side tires had been blown out, the Corvette veered to the right, causing us to face toward the cops once again—and Harris's gun.

I instinctively ducked down in my seat, doubling over so that my head was practically touching the floor. In a second or two, he'd probably slam into reverse and I'd smack my head off the glove compartment again.

I heard another loud gunshot and my head jerked up, expecting the worst. How was I still alive? Had that shot not come from the robber's gun? I stared out the front of the car to see a bullet-sized hole in the windshield on the driver's side. My eyes moved immediately to the robber to see that he'd been shot right in the head and he wasn't moving. Had Lieutenant Harris killed a man… to save me?

* * *

Lieutenant Harris stood next to me, surveying the damage to his vehicle. The Corvette was a disaster. The rims were bent, tires blown out, transmission and windshield damaged, and worst of all, the driver's side seat, steering wheel, and floor were all covered in the robber's blood.

"Guess it's a good thing the interior's ruby red," Harris muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"You… killed someone," I said, taken aback at what I'd just experienced. "You ever do that before?"

It took him several seconds before he answered.

"No," he said. "Don't know how I feel about it."

"We got a body!" Proctor shouted from inside the door of the pawn shop. "Looks like he might have been the owner of the shop!"

Harris turned toward the pawn shop, frowning deeply.

"That robber told me he killed someone earlier tonight," I said to Harris. "Guess he was telling the truth." I felt a chill go up my spine. "He told me that he was going to kill me, too. If you hadn't killed him…." I looked over at the police putting the murderous robber's body into a body bag and shuddered. "It would be me in that body bag right now."

Harris looked at me warily.

"No need to get all sentimental about what might have—"

Tears spilled down my face and Harris abruptly stopped talking. I was alive and it was because of Harris. I turned to him and threw my arms around him, hugging him tightly to me.

"Yow! Watch the shoulder, Carnegie," Harris hissed. Even so, I felt his arm touch my waist and I continued to hug him, getting my tears all over his good shoulder in the process.

* * *

"I'm sure you guys got better things to do than haul me to the hospital," Harris told the paramedics as he stood by one of two ambulances that had arrived. They'd since torn off his shirt to reveal an ugly gunshot wound to his right shoulder. Caked black blood covered the entire right side of his body and had seeped through his clothes. "One of the guys can bring me there in a cruiser. I assume the Corvette'll be towed somewhere."

"The ambulance is here for you, Sir, and your Corvette's in good hands," Mahoney answered. "We'll be gathering some evidence from it and then it'll be sent to be repaired and cleaned. Please, think about your own health right now."

"You know, I was wrong about you, Mahoney," Harris muttered, keeping his head down. "You turned out to be a pretty good cop."

Mahoney was obviously flattered and grinned toothily.

"You're not so bad yourself, Sir."

* * *

"Thank you for your statement, Miss Carnegie," Captain Mahoney said to me, smiling charmingly as he put away his note pad. "I'm gonna have Lieutenant Proctor and Officer Zed take you back to the academy. They're gonna move their perp into my car so I can finish with the formalities at the station. Is that alright?"

Great. I was being punished after being questioned uncomfortably for the last thirty minutes. First, I'd had to describe how Harris and I had ended up so close to the scene of the crime. Of course, I left out the part about the proposition (and I hoped to God that Harris had as well). After twenty more minutes of describing everything that had happened since we heard the radio, I was now going to have to deal with the twitchy spaz guy. I watched the ambulance leave with Harris inside, amazed that he'd agreed to Mahoney's request to be taken to the hospital for his gunshot wound.

I nodded hesitantly as Officer Zed approached me, looking as excited as a kid in a pet store.

"Don't worry; we'll get you there in no time!" he exclaimed, stopping abruptly as soon as he was within arms' reach. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. He beckoned me toward the car with strange arm movements. Lieutenant Proctor could only nod excitedly from his position close to the cruiser.

"You ever been in a police car before?" Zed asked me, maintaining a safe distance. He gestured dramatically to the car. I couldn't help but see a ring on the ring finger of his left hand. What the hell? Harris wasn't married but this crackpot was?

"Yes," I answered.

"When?"

The urge to roll my eyes was strong. Was this guy serious?

"I dunno, a couple of weeks ago?" I replied.

"What day?"

Mahoney let out a chuckle, touching me on the back as if to apologize.

"I already did the questioning, Zed. She's gotta get back. It's really late."

"Right, Captain," Zed spat, saluting Mahoney. "I'll make you glad that you hired me."

* * *

"How does Lieutenant Harris feel about killing that guy?" Proctor asked as we drove back to the academy. He looked in the rear view mirror at me as I sat in the caged backseat of the vehicle. "Did he tell you?"

"No," I muttered, frustrated by everything. I had more important things to think about; namely, how I was going to act around Lieutenant Harris when he returned.

"Do you think that guy would've killed you?" Zed asked, finally starting to calm down a bit. "If he was just going to let you out, then killing him was totally out of—"

"I know he would have killed me," I replied. "He had a gun and he said he was going to do it. Not just that, but he said he killed someone else tonight—I'm sure he wouldn't have told that to a possible witness."

"So Harris did the right thing, you're sayin'?" Zed said, egging me on. "That's just… crazy. Wanna see a photo of my wife? She's a photographer, you know! And a cop!"

I had to pick my jaw up off the floor after seeing the picture of Zed's alleged wife. He must have had some redeeming quality I wasn't seeing. In all honesty, I never wanted to get back to the academy so badly.

* * *

"Did you hear? Lieutenant Harris is back!" Gertrude exclaimed as soon as my alarm had gone off. A day and a weekend had passed since the fateful run-in at the pawn shop. Harris had taken exactly one day of work off for his pretty nasty gunshot wound and was probably resting up all weekend. I couldn't help but feel panicked. Would he pick up where we had left off before the radio call, or would he try to humiliate me because of it? Or would he simply never acknowledge what I'd said?

Taking Friday off was the smartest thing Harris could have done. In the meantime, the rumors that had spread in the meantime convinced most of the cadets of what a total badass he was. I myself avoided talking about it, but information about the pawn shop robbery had spread like wildfire. Only a couple of cadets from my squadron had approached me, and I had kept my responses short. Eventually they got tired of the lack of detail and went away. Thankfully, my identity was still unknown to other squadrons, so I was pretty much ignored as usual.

"Can't believe he killed a murderer," a girl from another squadron muttered as I brushed my teeth in the bathroom. "Not only that, but he saved a cadet from another squadron, lucky bitch."

I barely scoffed, glancing at her reflection in the mirror as she stood right next to me. Obviously I wasn't very recognizable.

"Hey, Ashley, did you know he's got a Corvette?" another remarked. "I wouldn't mind a ride in that. I think it's a limited edition, too. He must be loaded."

"What'll you think it would take, anyway, to snag him?" Ashley asked. "Some homemade cookies? Or maybe a shiny new baton? Maybe I should nurse him back to health—he did get shot in the shoulder."

They both laughed at the thought, but it actually sounded like there was some seriousness in what they were saying. I couldn't believe it. In one day, Harris had gone from being a pariah to being a hero.

"I'll bet a bj would get you into his car, at least," the second girl said, giggling. "I heard Commandant Lassard got one a few years back while he was making a speech."

"You're shittin' me!" Ashley shrieked. "Anyway, I'm gonna make sure that he notices me when he comes back. He's so short, though, I'd have to lay down on the floor to give him one!"

I walked into a stall and sat down, considering. Man, had the tables turned. The girls standing in front of the mirror were both far catchier and skinnier than I was. If they wanted him, they'd get him for sure.

I began blinking a bit more than necessary, as I heard the two girls leave the restroom. Damn it, why were my eyes watering?

* * *

The arrival of Lieutenant Harris to the classroom doorway was met with the sounds of giggling girls.

"Is it true you have a Corvette?" I heard someone ask him.

"Did you really kill a man?" another questioned.

"Can I see your bullet wound?"

"Ladies, ladies," Harris cautioned, from outside the door. The tone of his voice made it clear that he relished the attention. "You'll have to excuse me, but I got a class to teach."

"Can we be in your squadron?"

"You'd have to ask your squadron leader first," Harris replied. "Now, move it. You're gonna make me late."

"See you later, Thaddeus!" one happened to squeak.

"Now you listen here, little girl," Harris cautioned. "I am to be referred to as Lieutenant Harris, Lieutenant, or Sir. You call me anything else and I'll ignore you, you got that?"

"Yes, Sir. Of course, Sir."

I caught a glimpse of the sleazebag as she walked past the open classroom door, still saluting Harris. He'd given _me_ permission to call him by his first name, but only outside of the academy. He hadn't stated it that way to the sleazebag, though—he just told her that she couldn't do it. I found myself grinning at the thought.

* * *

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Captain Callahan announced, a little smile crossing her face as she saluted him. Most of the cadets could only stare as he entered the room as proud and cocky as ever. His right arm was in a sling, but he wore his usual uniform. Even so, he still had his baton, though he held it in his left hand.

"Captain," he muttered, giving her a little nod. He turned toward the classroom, his eyes scanning the room. I made it a point to stare at him, hoping to see the future in how he looked at me.

Nothingness. His eyes scanned right over me seamlessly with the other cadets.

"How's your Corvette doing?" Beaner asked him, grinning stupidly.

"I think you mean my shoulder," Harris huffed. "It's a little sore, but it's getting there," he added, clearly irritated by the question. "Now, Captain Callahan will be writing on the board today while yours truly talks. Any questions about certain _occurrences_ outside the academy will have to wait until we've gotten through today's material."

"Well, that's no fun," Bordeaux muttered. "We've been waiting all day to hear about what happened."

"And you will hear about it, as soon as we've finished the material," Callahan said with a sneer. "The more you talk now, the less you'll hear later. Got it?"

Bordeaux gave Callahan a little smile and promptly shut up. The lesson continued as usual, except instead of spitballs being blown across the room and eye-rolls, all eyes were on Harris as he spoke. The class was totally entranced.

At the end of his notes for the day, Harris summarized his lesson for the day and then gave a nod to Captain Callahan, who began to erase the chalkboard.

"Does that mean you're done?" Fenster asked.

"Can you tell us about the other night, then?" I heard Brookstone ask. I turned to her to see her bat her heavily made-up eyelashes. Damn. All females in this academy were now swooning over Harris. Now that Brookstone didn't have Norris to look at, I guess she had to use all her pounds of makeup on someone.

"I can only tell you certain details," he said, "being as there's still an active investigation going on."

For an instant Harris's eyes moved to mine, and then just as quickly, they moved away.

"Fair enough," Bordeaux called out. "Let's hear it, Sir."

"Hmm, where to begin," Harris murmured, stroking his chin with his left arm, his baton tucked away in the crook of his arm.

"How about how Carnegie ended up in your car?" Beaner said with a sneer, glancing over at me. I shot him an evil glare.

"I was simply bringing her back to the academy at the time she was discharged from the hospital," Harris said. I sighed. Talk about glossing over that entire evening! He continued explaining. "As I was heading back towards the academy, I heard a call on the—"

"Why didn't you take your other car?" a female student asked. Ugh. Another one of the swooners.

"Another officer was borrowing it for the night," he quickly snapped.

"How did you get to your Corvette then? I know I would have seen _that_ parked around here."

Harris rolled his eyes and shifted uncomfortably.

"Do you wanna know what happened at the pawn shop or not? I don't got time to give you a blow-by-blow of the entire night."

"So, you got the radio call…" Stiner called out.

"And I turned around and booked it towards the crime scene. Got there first."

"Wait a second—how did you get there so quickly?" Mullers asked. "Metropolitan Hospital's a good distance from the pawn shop, and the academy is even further away."

"You don't think a ZR1 can beat a squad car?" Harris remarked, his face flushing. Some of the male students gave a little whoop. Harris was officially a badass. Even so, the class was putting him on the spot, grilling him in front of the classroom. I had to admit; the students were good questioners. Maybe they'd _all_ make good cops.

"As I was saying, _Mullers_, I got there first, and wouldn't you know it—two robbers came running out of the pawn shop and jumped into their getaway car right in front of me. I jumped out of the car with my gun drawn, announced that I was a cop, and when they still didn't stop, I shot out two of their tires."

"When did you get shot?" Beaner asked.

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there," Harris muttered, clearly irritated. "You wanna tell the story, Beaner?"

"No."

"So the getaway car stops and one of the scumbags aims his gun at me. Before I can even react, he shoots me in the shoulder. Three squad cars pull in shortly after that and stop the getaway car and nail the other guy. The scumbag sees he's screwed and he uses me as a human shield to get to the car. He tells all the cops to take the ammo out of their guns and to throw 'em down, and they do it. He then drops me and runs for the car like a coward."

He had told the truth about the entire story; no embellishing, just the cold hard facts. I was stunned. Even so, Harris must have paused for a moment too long, because Manson chimed in.

"When did you kill him?"

"Now, Manson, I know you're pretty familiar with killings, but you just gotta wait 'til I get to that point."

I saw her frown and slide down in her seat. Obviously he was referring to her infamous relative, Charles Manson, as he'd apparently done on the very first day of the academy.

"I knew that Carnegie was in the car and that the scumbag wasn't shy about using his gun, so as soon as he let me go, I grabbed my gun and blew out the tires of the ZR1. He continued to try to get away, so I used the dimensions of the vehicle and his height to figure out precisely where his head was inside the dark car. Then I shot it."

"Oh my God," Brookstone said, covering her mouth. "That's incredible."

"I'm not finished," Harris cut in, clearly gloating. "Shortly after that, one of the cops found the body of the guy the dead scumbag had shot."

"How did you know that the dead guy was the shooter and not the other guy?"

"'Cause he told April that." I blanched. He'd said my first name, in a sea of cadets referred to by last names. Oh God. He'd really done it now. Apparently he caught the error as well, and got flustered. "That's everything," he barked. "Class dismissed. Driving range exam after lunch. Bring your bathing suits to change into afterwards."

Before anyone could spit out another question, he strode quickly out of the room. I was left with a sea of eyes staring at me.


	31. Driven Crazy

**A/N: This next chapter will be paired quickly with the chapter after it, so I wanted to be sure they were both prepared before I posted this! I'm so sorry for the wait! Thank you so much for your kind reviews, Charley Vandra, Shelle007, and Katrina Connors! I am so glad you all like the story and I hope you continue to enjoy it!**

**Chapter 31: Driven Crazy**

* * *

"_April_?" Mullers asked me, as my face heated up. I tried to gather my notebook to leave the classroom but I was being surrounded by curious people. "Since when did Harris start callin' you April?"

"Just now," I muttered. "I don't know why he would do that. I really gotta go to the bathroom; see you at lunch," I added. With that, I left the room red-faced.

After composing myself and getting away from everyone for a little bit, I came back from the bathroom to see Lieutenant Harris sitting at his small table with three female cadets gathered around him, all trying to eat but keeping their eyes on him as he talked about his recent adventure. They looked so stupid, missing their mouths every once in a while with their forks, or putting empty spoons and forks into their mouths. Brookstone was one of the cadets. Apparently Norris was long-forgotten. I rolled my eyes. In spite of the fact that these were students who'd openly made fun of him in the past, Harris clearly loved being the current center of attention; this was probably the first time someone had sat at his table voluntarily. A table away, Tackleberry and Jones could only stare in confusion at the sudden change of heart in the cadets. Lieutenant Harris was now the most eligible bachelor at the Metropolitan Police Academy.

"Over here, April!" Mullers called out, waving from her seat. I gave her a wave and grabbed food from the buffet line before sitting down at her table. It was obvious what question I'd get as soon as my butt had touched the chair. "So I gotta get right down to it: are you and Harris a thing?"

"No," I said, forcing myself not to blush. Of course, it didn't work that way and I still could feel my face heating up.

"You sure about that?" Mullers asked. "'Cause it looks like Harris drove his Corvette there on purpose, to pick you up." Something suddenly occurred to her. "Wait—did you ever figure out who those other flowers were from?"

"Flowers?" Stiner murmured, confused. Obviously Mullers hadn't told her everything. Good.

"Nah," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck as I glanced over at Harris's table. He was still rattling on, the girls' eyes widened with false excitement. I gestured toward his table. "Really, though, does it _look_ like we're together?"

"No need to get huffy about it, Carnegie," Mullers said with a grin. "Anyway, where did you guys go after the hospital? You could never have gotten to the pawn shop so quickly from there. I don't care what he says about it being a ZR1."

I hesitated for a moment before saying anything, which apparently was all the validation she needed.

"I knew it!" she exclaimed, pointing at me with a big smile on her face. "So, where did you guys go?"

"Nowhere," I muttered, looking down the table at Stiner and Manson to see that they were staring. I shook my head. "I'd really rather not talk about the other night…here."

"Then let's go somewhere private," Mullers said. "We got some time before we gotta go to the driving range. How about your room?"

"Eh, I just sat down," I said. "I haven't even touched my food. Don't worry; I won't forget. I'll tell you later."

* * *

"Carnegie, get the lead out of it," I heard on the bullhorn, as I carefully maneuvered the Crown Victoria around the cones and barrels on the driving course. Harris's voice was condescending as usual, and it was as if the other night had never happened. Being as he'd taken off Friday, the exam had been unofficially pushed to today. I hated Mondays enough as it was, and now I hated them even more. Not only that, but Harris actually made me do the driving exam before everyone else in the squadron, before I could see anyone else do the course. It was completely and totally unfair and I was pissed.

After finishing the course, I pulled the vehicle up to Harris, looking up at him through the opened driver's side window. It was hot again today and I could see that Harris was visibly sweating.

"Well, I didn't hit anything," I said, shrugging.

"Any slower and you would've gone backwards," was his loud reply. Some students snickered and I thought I saw him wink at me, which was really odd when paired with his insult. Before I could read more into it, Harris turned to the other students. "Next!"

Brookstone was next in line. She purposely brushed against Harris as she got into the car, but he didn't react at all. Didn't take much for her to win him over, apparently.

She zoomed around the course, expertly missing the cones and barrels and finishing a good two minutes ahead of me.

"Good job, Brookstone," Harris said, giving her a pat on the back as she got out of the car. I couldn't help but cross my arms and roll my eyes. Great. I would have to watch Harris and Brookstone flirt for the rest of the academy.

* * *

At the end of the cadet exams, Harris and Callahan stood by the squad car as we leaned against the wall, Harris holding a clipboard that apparently contained all our scores.

"To sum it up, everyone passed the test—"

My jaw dropped open. Really?

"Except for Carnegie. The rest of you are dismissed to the pool with Callahan. Carnegie, you stay put."

I let out a loud frustrated sigh. I knew I'd fail, being as I hadn't even practiced it before, what with being laid up in the hospital. Harris was really being hard on me. He knew damn well why I didn't pass, and it was like he had forgotten! Not only that, but he'd driven the final nail into the coffin by making me go first!

Several girls from Tackleberry's squadron had made their way to the driving range to watch the activity, and even Brookstone lingered behind after all the other cadets were dismissed.

"Are you coming, Lieutenant Harris?" one of the female cadets called out from a distance away. "You didn't get to finish your story. We wanna hear the rest!"

Flashing them a look of mock annoyance, he waved them off.

"You girls go ahead without me. I gotta deal with a cadet right now."

Shit. I could just hear it now, Harris screaming at me for not finding the time to practice this morning. I set my jaw and waited, my arms crossed across my chest, eyes on the ground. Finally the girls scampered off, leaving me alone with Lieutenant Harris.

"I thought you knew how to drive, Carnegie," he said, lifting his bullhorn to his face as he spoke. He strode toward me cockily, revealing a big grin on his face when he lowered the bullhorn.

"I already told you, I never got to practice," I replied. "I'm sure I could have passed had I gotten to actually see this course before today."

"Oh, is that what you think?" he said, stopping in front of me, the bullhorn again in front of his mouth. "So, being as you've now 'seen' the course, you think you can pass the exam now?"

"Probably," I replied. Why the hell was he using that bullhorn? I could hear him just fine without it. Now my ear was ringing. Harris took a step to the side, holding his left arm out. My proposition in the car the other night was a distant memory, as I watched him sneer at me.

"Well, then, show me."

* * *

This time I drove around the course I actually used the gas pedal and had a much better feel for where to go. Watching 30-some people drive the course had made it much easier to follow. At the end of my run, I'd definitely gone faster on the course than about half the class, and had successfully avoided all obstacles. Harris had laid down his megaphone, baton, and clipboard and was simply standing at the end of the course, waiting.

I pulled up in front of him and looked up once more. He leaned onto the car with his left hand, sneering down at me. Instead of receiving feedback, though, I got a question.

"How do _you_ think you did?" he asked.

"I think I passed."

"Oh, really?"

I was getting really fed up with his attitude. Either he had short term memory loss or he was screwing with me. Something in me snapped.

"Have we met?" I asked him.

Immediately he frowned.

"And just what's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said," I replied. "Was it not you who got me out the hospital the other night? Who got me flowers and saved me? Or was that your twin?"

He turned his head quickly to the side, his eyes frantically scanning the area behind us. I rolled my eyes. _Yes, asshole, we're alone._

"You sayin' you liked that guy?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

"I was willing to sleep with that guy," I replied, looking right into his eyes. Wow, had I made myself vulnerable!

"Yeah, pity sex," he said, unimpressed. "Must be why you said you _were_ willing. Bet you don't pity me anymore, eh?"

I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his. My face was dead serious.

"That had nothing to do with pity," I muttered.

Suddenly he was grinning at me.

"Do I sense some jealousy?"

"What?" I blurted.

"Oh, you know. Brookstone, those C-squad girls.…"

He couldn't have said anything worse. I blew up.

"Screw you," I growled, throwing open the door of the car and stepping out, my vision shaking with adrenaline. "I don't expect anything of you, just for you to be consistent with me." I began to walk away from him, until I heard the car door slam and Harris's voice bellow out.

"You stop right there!"

I stopped in my tracks, but turned my head to say something.

"I don't have to put up with this," I muttered. "I think you get off on embarrassing me in front of the squadron. You made me go first on purpose, knowing damn well that I wasn't ready. You wanted me to fail!"

"You come right back here!" he demanded in a growl, though his voice had lost volume and wasn't his typical shrill yell.

"Maybe I'll go to someone else's squadron," I huffed. "Don't worry; you'll have plenty of girls willing to fill my spot."

"That does it! Get back here or you'll be back in your cell at the station! I mean it!"

So Harris was willing to renege on his academy-for-bail arrangement. Wow. I sighed and took several steps back towards him.

"Stand at attention in front of me, cadet," he hissed. My jaw shook with anger. Even so, I did as he asked, my eyes stuck on the ground. I was too disgusted to look at him.

"You got your bathing suit?"

I looked up at Harris, who was no longer gruff or angry-looking. His off-the-wall question had confused me thoroughly.

"Yeah," I replied. "Why?"

"Go get it."

I went over to the mini duffle bag containing my bathing suit, and brought over the ugly one-piece. I held it in my hand and looked at him. His eyes flashed devilishly.

"Rip it."

I almost bit the inside of my mouth as I looked down at the garment. What the hell?

"You heard me. Rip it."

"Wh—"

"Just do what I tell you to do. Rip the damn suit."

I proceeded to hold one side and yank on the other, and soon one of the shoulder straps became unstitched. After my job was complete, I looked at him.

"Let me guess," I muttered. "Now I'm gonna have to pay for this."

"Damn straight you are," he said, his tone aggressive but his face amused. "Now you gotta go to the supply room and get another one."

I glowered at him.

"Is this some way of making up for me not finishing up the obstacle course the other day? Making me walk all the way over there in this heat?"

He shook his head.

"Actually, I gotta go over there too. No one's on duty today so I gotta get the door. I got some _things_ I need to discuss with you."


	32. Discretion

**A/N: Aww, thanks, you guys (Shelle007, Charley Vandra, and Katrina Connors)! I was so happy to see how fast you all read the story—and that you reviewed! This chapter is kind of like the second half of the one before. It might be a little bit more time before I post the next chapter (I haven't actually written it yet), but I will be working on it. Thanks again for your encouragement!**

**Chapter 32: Discretion**

* * *

I walked toward the supply room with my small duffle bag in my hand, glancing back occasionally to see Lieutenant Harris ambling up the hill, polishing the metal tip of his baton by rubbing it against the fabric of his arm sling. I saw other squadrons out in the distance running the obstacle course. My squadron was at the pool with Captain Callahan, and this delay would make me get there even later. I hoped that I wouldn't be missing out on some other exam. Perhaps Harris was just being sadistic in making me fall behind the others. I'd read him wrong.

Why had he made me rip my bathing suit? It made no sense. Now both he and I had to walk all the way across campus to the supply room to get another one. I knew that he hated swimming, but why was he making _me _late to go over there? It's not like they would make him swim with a gunshot wound and a sling!

I leaned on the supply room door, my arms crossed, as I watched Captain Tackleberry stride across campus.

"Need let in?" he yelled from a distance. I hesitated before answering.

"No," I called back. "Thanks, though."

He gave a big toothy smile and a little wave and was on his way.

I looked back to see that Lieutenant Harris was still approaching, but keeping his pace purposefully slower than mine, even though he could be quite the speed walker. Finally he arrived at the door, immediately taking out a wad of keys and finding the one for the supply room.

Before entering the supply room, he took a long look around the campus. I didn't see anyone, so I didn't know why he was so paranoid.

He flipped on a light switch inside the small room and stood impatiently by the door, his eyes scanning the grounds.

"Get in here, Carnegie."

As I entered the supply room, he shut the door behind me and locked it from the inside.

"What are you doing?" I asked, utterly baffled.

"And here, I thought _I_ was unobservant," he said. "This is the only place at the academy where we'll be left alone."

I didn't even know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

"Lemme guess—you think I'm some kind of sadistic dickhead whose only goal is to humiliate you."

"I don't know what to think," I replied, clasping my hands behind my back. "Today you are."

"Mission accomplished then," he said. "I gotta throw 'em off the trail. Blurting your first name today in front of the squadron looked bad."

"How so?"

"I don't wanna flaunt it like Callahan."

I was confused and made it very clear on my face.

"So what are you saying?"

His eyes grew wide with exasperation.

"You really need me to spell it out for you?"

"Yeah, actually. 'Cause I'm lost," I said, crossing my arms. He narrowed his eyes at me.

"I want to answer your question from the other night," he said. "I think you know the one."

My look of confusion turned to one of shock when I realized what he was talking about. He continued speaking.

"The answer is yes, it still stands."

My mouth fell open and I gaped at him, unsure of what expression to show on my face.

"Well, what about all of your yelling and humiliating me in front of everyone?" I blurted. "That's a pretty good mood killer, you know."

"It was a _ruse_, Carnegie. Thought you'd be sharp enough to pick up on it. Like I said, I want to keep this private. So, now that you know I'm not actually a dickhead, what do you say? Wanna have at it?"

I was stunned. I wanted to say yes to this but what was _this_, really? I wasn't sure if I could face Harris every day after a one-night stand. And what if it was a disaster? I wouldn't be able to look him in the eye again. He might even be so bold as to try to embarrass me about it in front of the squadron.

When my eyes focused back on Harris, I could see a kind of weird vulnerability in his eyes, probably because I hadn't actually made any kind of verbal response. Certainly his words weren't romantic, but his eyes gave me a hint as to _something_ a bit soft around the edges lingering deep inside him.

"I just gotta ask—is this a one-time thing, or what?" I blurted. "Or are you planning on playing the field with the other female cadets? As you're already aware from my arrest record, I do have a jealous streak."

Harris interrupted my statement with a loud sigh.

"I wouldn't be risking further reprimand from the academy for one measly screw. And do you really think I'm interested in those fair-weather floozies pawing all over me? You got nothing to worry about."

"But you don't have your car right now," I said in a playful tone, relieved and confident. "I believe the original proposition involved the Corvette."

"Then I'm gonna have to christen every horizontal surface of this academy with your bare ass in the meantime."

I cocked an eyebrow, feeling my insides melting down into an ever-warming puddle. Whoa.

"Is that so?" I murmured, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. "What about your desk?"

"I'm gonna bend you over it, and Lassard's desk too." He suddenly became self-conscious. "…while he's not there, of course."

My eyes practically bugged out of my head, my pulse quickened and my face heated up. Oh My God. Lieutenant Harris certainly had a filthy way of saying things, and the sad thing was that my body was _really_ reacting to it.

My entire lower body throbbed and tingled with need, with _want_. Would the first place to be 'christened' be this shitty little supply room?

"But what about your arm?" I asked. "It's probably going to be in a sling for awhile."

"I don't need this arm for what I'm gonna do to you," he muttered, taking a step towards me.

How had I gone from being disgusted ten minutes ago to being so damn turned on? I had one more question to ask, one that was a legitimate concern. Right now I was officially missing from pool exercises. If I disappeared from activities, I might not make it through the academy.

"How are we going to find time to, uh, _christen_ everything?"

"We're gonna make time."

I frowned.

"That's kind of vague."

"I'm gonna play it off as if we can't stand each other," he explained. "I know that won't be hard for you to do. I'm gonna make excuses for you to have to meet me, like when you fell on me last week."

"So you're going to act like I'm incompetent?"

He nodded his head enthusiastically.

"Yep. Either that or disrespectful. All depends upon how I can angle it."

I winced. This was going to get old fast. Being humiliated on a daily basis was not my idea of a good time, and was certainly not foreplay for me.

"Sounds like I'm going to be embarrassed in front of the squadron all the time," I muttered.

He put a finger up.

"…Only if you didn't know my intentions, which you now do. Anyway, what comes later will make it worth your while."

"Why does it have to be kept secret, though? That's what I don't understand."

"Well, it's not exactly smiled upon for an instructor to sleep with cadets, and if I'm ever considered for promotion again, screwing around with a cadet would guarantee me an instant _no_. I got my career to think about."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Or maybe you just want the other cadets to think you're single and continue hitting on you," I remarked. I watched him shake his head slowly.

"But I'm not single," he replied. "And neither are you."

His response didn't address my last comment, but his next actions made me forget all about any doubts I had about his love of female attention.

Lieutenant Harris strode up to me and took the duffle bag out of my hands, letting it fall to the floor. I let my hands fall to my sides as his left hand grazed the top of my sweatpants, his thumb brushing the bare skin at my hip. I felt myself shudder, feeling fire at the point of contact. Just that little _touch_ had made this entire embarrassing driving range incident worthwhile. I had almost forgotten that we were in a tiny supply room that smelled like sweat and mildew.

My hand instinctively moved toward him, but he intercepted it, his left hand clamping down on my hand firmly. His hand was warm, moist, and relatively soft, something I hadn't predicted. I stared down at this first connection of our bodies, at his bare ring finger and short fingernails, his skin olive-colored and a couple shades darker than mine. Thaddeus Harris had grabbed my hand and was not letting it go. I felt my heart thudding in my ears at the thought of what was to come. My eyes instinctively moved to the supply room door—would Captain Tackleberry or some other instructor interrupt us? Harris spoke then, his voice low and gravelly.

"This isn't the kind of place a lady should get laid—at least, not the first time."

I was crestfallen. I understood that the supply room wasn't ideal, but damn, I'd been waiting long enough for this! I'd told him I wasn't a virgin; had he forgotten? I needed to clarify this—maybe this moment would be saved after all and we'd end up naked on that giant pile of academy-issued sweatpants in the corner…

"Uh, this isn't my first—"

"I meant with _me_," he snapped, giving my hand a brief squeeze before releasing it. "Anyway, we oughta get back to the pool. Callahan's gonna get suspicious soon. Try to find another bathing suit in this mess and pull the door shut behind you. I'll be over at the pool when you get there."

"But aren't we going to walk togeth—"

"Discretion," he murmured, putting a finger against his lips. I couldn't help but wish that I was that finger. I hadn't even gotten to kiss Harris and yet he was discussing sexual encounters with me. He unlocked the door, giving me a hungry look as he turned to leave. "Just you wait… April."


	33. Proper Pool Attire

**A/N: ****Thank you so much for your encouragement, Weasleytwins, Shelle007, Charley Vandra, and Katrina Connors! Sorry for the length of this chapter, but I wanted this all in here! BTW, this chapter isn't the last one, because there are still some other things to do...**

**CHAPTER 33: Proper Swimming Attire**

* * *

It took me another ten minutes to track down a bathing suit, let alone one that came close to my size. Of the three bathing suits I was able to find, I would have literally been _swimming_ in two of them, they were so huge. Scoffing, I grabbed a too-small one piece and shoved it in my duffle bag with the ripped bathing suit, in case Captain Callahan would ask questions. After determining that there was no way that I was going to dig through a stack of discarded cafeteria food trays and empty gun holsters to track down any other bathing suits, I left the supply room and yanked the door shut behind me. What excuse would Lieutenant Harris use to meet me later? The ambiguous words he'd used earlier didn't tell me when this so-called 'incompetence' by me would occur. I wasn't looking forward to being caught off-guard by some remark, but I _was_ looking forward to getting to know him a little better….

Glancing at my watch, I smiled at how late I was for the lessons at the pool. Maybe I'd be called out for being so late; it made a lot of sense. I had yet to change into the new bathing suit, so that would make me later yet. That was a good enough reason. Maybe Harris would see that as well.

I arrived at the pool within five minutes of leaving the supply room and immediately noticed big dark things at the bottom of the pool being dragged to the surface by the cadets. Three cadets would dive in at a time and rescue a heavy-looking black beanbag and then toss it up onto the concrete deck. Some kind of life-saving exercise, I guessed. I saw Callahan standing at poolside with a clipboard and a stopwatch. Apparently this was being timed and recorded. Lieutenant Harris paced back and forth, yelling out various commands and remarks on his bullhorn.

So this was today's activity. I wasn't a very strong swimmer, let alone a diver. The last time I had attempted to dive was middle school, when I did a painful belly-flop and got laughed at all my classmates at the end-of-the-year pool party. Well, at least I wouldn't be getting dehydrated today.

Captain Callahan was the first instructor to notice my arrival. Her back straightened even more than it had been and she walked over to me with long strides. She looked a lot like a lifeguard, with red shorts, a white t-shirt, a whistle around her neck, sunglasses over her eyes, and a ballcap pulled down over her forehead.

"Carnegie," she said, her eyes obscured by her dark sunglasses. "Lieutenant Harris told me you had to retake the driving test, but he's been back now for fifteen minutes. Where have you been?"

I glanced over in Lieutenant Harris's direction. He turned his head and stared intensely in my direction, but then after ten seconds or so, turned back to face the students in the pool with not a word. What was I supposed to say? Why had he not used his bullhorn to say something?

"I'm talking to you," Callahan stated again, her face now closer to mine. "Where were you?"

Again my eyes went to Harris, who was either totally immersed in screaming at the cadets, or purposely ignoring me. I guessed the latter.

"My bathing suit ripped, and Lieutenant Harris sent me to get another one." I reached down towards my duffle bag and unzipped it, pulling out the ripped bathing suit. "See?"

"And where is the other one?" she asked.

I reached into the bag again, pulling out the smaller bathing suit.

"How did you get into the supply room for that? It's locked up today," she commented.

"Ask Lieutenant Harris," I muttered, looking down. "I should probably go change now, before I miss anything else."

Thankfully she said nothing else as I quickly sped around her, but Harris still wasn't looking at me. He had had the perfect opportunity to cut into the conversation and claim that I was playing hooky. I wouldn't have had to look incompetent, just _late_, which I actually was. It had been so easy. Why hadn't he said anything?

I strode right behind him on the way to the pool house locker room, using all my will power not to brush against him as I walked past. Mullers was now in the pool diving for the heavy dummy at the bottom. Ugh.

* * *

Man, this wasn't going to work at all. I stood inside the pool house and looked down at my bathing suit, which was at least two sizes too small. Not only that, but the material around the inside of my thighs was seriously cutting off my circulation. It also made me look fat, making my thighs puff out around the tight bathing suit material. I slipped my sweatpants back on to hide my legs, hoping that the diving lesson would go quickly and that I'd get to officially ask for a new bathing suit. Why didn't Harris just meet with me in the supply room without telling me to destroy my clothes? I didn't have a proper-fitting bathing suit and it was his fault.

When I emerged from the pool house I saw a lot of eyes settle on me, but that didn't include Lieutenant Harris. I took several steps toward the pool wearing my bathing suit and sweatpants, attempting to ignore the stares, all the while Harris still kept his back to me. He was a little too good at acting like a dickhead, that was for sure.

Finally Harris realized that something was going on behind him, as everyone around the edge of the pool was now staring at my weird outfit. He spun around dramatically and faced me, his eyes widening as his eyes scanned me from top to bottom. My pants finally made him aware of what was going on.

"Carnegie," he said with a sneer. "In case you weren't aware, sweatpants are not standard issue swimwear."

"The new bathing suit I had to get after mine ripped doesn't fit," I shot back. "There are no other bathing suits remotely close to my size in the supply room."

"Oh," he said, his face showing no trace of anger. Thankfully, he was turned away from the other cadets and Captain Callahan, and no one could see his expression. His gaze went to my shoulder and chest region and then moved downwards. Clearing his throat, he pointed his bullhorn at my pants. "Uh, you _do_ realize that those will only slow you down for the timed rescue, right?"

"Yes," I replied, irritated.

"Pants _off_, Carnegie!" Callahan commanded, her voice carrying from across the pool. I did nothing, instead exchanging another glance with Harris, hoping he'd instead call for a later meeting. He could only look at me helplessly, the steeling of his jaw contradicting the vulnerability in his eyes.

"Lieutenant!" Callahan yelled. "She's standing right in front of you. She will _not_ dive with those on. Tell her!"

Harris did a half-turn and gave Callahan a little wave of acknowledgement. He then turned to me, looking defeated.

"You heard her. Pants off, Carnegie," he muttered huskily, his voice deep and surprisingly quiet. Why wasn't he calling on me to meet up later? Was he really going to make me show my legs? I looked at his face, which was literally begging me to listen to him. Where was his anger, his annoyance? For a moment, I forgot about all the other people watching this interaction between Harris and me.

"Why don't_ you_ take 'em off?" I countered, narrowing my eyes at him.

I heard some_ ooh_s from the squadron, and Harris's eyes widened dangerously, but his tongue was tied. I could have sworn I saw him gulp. From across the pool, Callahan's face was red. Shit. If he didn't do something soon, I'd have to deal with her wrath.

I crossed my arms and frowned at Lieutenant Harris, a rather aggressive stance from a student to an instructor. He shook his head dangerously at me, his eyes glaring me down, face the color of a beet. Surely now he had no choice other than to arrange a time to meet with him for 'punishment.' I had successfully taken control of his attempt to make me look incompetent. Now all he had to do was follow up on it….

"Suit yourself," Harris muttered with a little shrug, his face very red, though I didn't think it was from anger. He stepped forward, and after a moment's hesitation, he grabbed the elastic sweatpant band at my hips and swiftly yanked my pants down _right in front of everyone_. Oh my God. My thighs were exposed now and I immediately felt my entire body heating up in spite of the cool breeze moving across my skin. I looked down at my thighs to see that they were mottled red from embarrassment or _something_.

Harris's eyes went wide as they moved from my legs up to my face. I doubted that this was appropriate cadet-instructor interaction, and I think he realized that as well. As soon as my pants hit the ground, he gave a little nod to Callahan and quickly walked right past me into the poolhouse's men's restroom.

Everyone in the squadron including Callahan was now staring at me. I slipped my feet out of the sweatpants, gave everyone a sheepish little smile, gathered the pants up, and took off into the poolhouse's women's restroom before Captain Callahan could follow through with some other punishment.

* * *

I emerged from the restroom after about ten minutes wearing my ripped bathing suit after hearing what sounded like chaos. I'd found some safety pins in someone's open duffle bag and used them to reattach the shoulder strap to the front of the ripped bathing suit. No way would I spend one more second in that other, tight bathing suit, especially in front of the whole squadron.

When I came outside, much of the squadron was in the water, swimming around or splashing each other. I quickly slid into the water and silently scanned the scene. Where had Harris and Callahan gone?

"Man, did you get Harris!" Mullers said, after surfacing near me. "Didn't know you were that… bold. He didn't even yell at you. Either he really likes you or you really caught him off-guard."

"Eh, I don't know what I was thinking," I muttered. "Where did Harris go, anyway?"

"Callahan called him aside to chew him out," she said, pointing off in the distance. I peered off in the direction Mullers had indicated to see Captain Callahan gesturing very pointedly at Harris as they stood face to face. Mullers chuckled. "I think he got in more trouble than you did for that whole thing."

* * *

As Callahan returned from her tirade, I was one of the first to stand obediently by the pool to attempt to make up for my earlier behavior. All the while, I spent the rest of the pool exercises wondering what she had said to Lieutenant Harris. By the time dinner arrived with not a word from Harris, I was relieved that Captain Callahan had never said anything regarding those rather bold remarks. Had Lieutenant Harris actually been _covering_ for me during his talk with Callahan? That wasn't supposed to happen.

I was utterly confused as I walked across the campus toward the cafeteria with Mullers, Stiner, and Manson. Why in the world had Harris told me all that crap in the supply room, only to completely back away from everything he had said a mere fifteen minutes after he'd said them? Was it because I had chosen the situation? Maybe he liked controlling everything, including when to yell at me.

At dinner I saw another couple of girls lingering around Lieutenant Harris's table. I did notice at the moment I looked at him that he wasn't talking to them and was just eating. I wanted to yank him away from there and figure out what the moment at the pool had been about. I had an issue, though; how could I get him to leave the cafeteria without physically dragging him out of there in front of everyone? I'd certainly embarrassed him earlier, telling him to yank my pants down in front of all the cadets. I then remembered Sergeant Jones and his talent with voices.

I approached the tall, smiling sergeant as he stood in line at the buffet table, thankfully away from Captain Tackleberry at this moment.

"Excuse me," I said, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned to me, his face friendly.

"Hello, Miss," he said, his voice again different than I'd heard it before.

"You're really good at voices, like that one in the lunch room when you made it sound like you had a radio call," I said.

"Uh, well, thank you," he said, unsure of where I was taking the conversation.

"Can you do me a favor?" I blurted. "Can you make Lieutenant Harris go to his office? Like, make an announcement over the P.A.?"

He seemed open to doing such a thing, but still looked a bit puzzled.

"May I ask why, Miss?"

"I need to talk to him in private."

"Ah, I see," he replied. "Though, wouldn't it be easier to just ask him yourself? He _is_ right over there."

"Never mind," I said, turning away with a half-frown, my shoulders slumping. "Thanks anyway."

"Wait," he said, glancing at me and then over at Harris at his now crowded table. "Alright, Miss. You say you want him to go to his office?"

"Yeah. Would you be able to do that?"

"Affirmative," he said in a robot voice. His smile grew larger. "I'll give you a couple of minutes for a head start in case you're planning on getting there first."

"Thank you! You took the words right out of my mouth."

He used his hands to pretend to pull something out of my face and then in my exact same tone of voice, replied with a devilish grin.

"Thank you! You took the words right out of my mouth."

* * *

"Lieutenant Harris, Lieutenant Harris, please report to your office," a nasally fast voice said over the P.A.. I sighed with relief from my position within Harris's office, thankful that the door had been unlocked so that I could assume a position of surprise. Then I waited. I only had to stand around for a couple of minutes, but it felt like a half an hour.

The door creaked open while Harris was talking, obviously annoyed at having to be called away from his meal, or perhaps just the attention he was getting.

I heard him turn the doorknob as he muttered to himself. "What the hell is this all about?" he grumbled as he stepped through the door into the foyer of his office. "There ain't nothing here for me to do." The door slowly began to shut behind him as I watched him stride toward his desk, his back towards the door—and me. "I don't got time to run around all—"

I stepped out from behind the door and forcefully slammed it shut, causing Lieutenant Harris to nearly jump out of his skin. His uninjured arm went out to his side and his entire body jerked as he first paused for a moment and then cautiously began to turn his head. I could see his face was white and his eyes were wide.

"Lieutenant Harris," I snapped, striding quickly towards him.

"Carnegie?" he asked, still more confused and startled than angry. He spun around to face me, his confusion turning to anger quickly as he pointed at me accusatorially. "Carnegie, what the _hell _were you trying to do to me out there?"

"I would ask you the same," I replied, crossing my arms.

"I got reamed out by Callahan for that… whatever that was," he growled. "You tryin' to get me fired?"

"Of course not!" I replied. "Why didn't you call a later meeting, like you said you'd do in the supply room? _That's_ what that was for!"

He blinked at me, obviously confused.

"What are you talkin' about?"

"You said you were going to pretend like we can't stand each other, and that you'd make me look incompetent or disrespectful," I muttered. "I wanted to make it easier for you," I added, shrugging.

"Oh," he acknowledged, lifting his hand and running a finger along his collar. "Uh, well, I was gonna wait a day. Might look funny immediately making you meet with me after I… made that mistake this morning with your first name." He straightened his back, his confidence returning. "Anyway, what you did today by the pool was wrong and disrespectful and I don't take being embarrassed lightly."

"I agree," I said matter-of-factly. "It was the perfect opportunity to schedule… a meeting."

"Did I not tell you that_ I_ was gonna call the shots when it came to—"

"You know what? I'm too old for these games," I interrupted, shaking my head and throwing my hands in the air. "I never dreamed that you would actually yank my pants down in front of everyone today. After doing _that_, it wouldn't be much different for us to openly date—in fact, I'd argue that it'd be more _subtle_ than that."

He stared at me, his mouth agape, bottom teeth on display as he leaned back, his left hand on his desk. It appeared that he was breathing harder, because I could hear his every exhalation. For a moment, his eyes moved away and when they locked back on mine, he'd made a decision. He cleared his throat as he prepared to speak.

"You know why I couldn't follow through today?" he remarked, straightening his back and lifting his chin up. I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. He'd literally just explained why.

"You just said it was because you wanted to wait," I answered.

"Well, that was bullshit," he said. "I don't wanna wait."

"Then why did you—"

"I can't act like I can't stand you," he blurted. "I know I said we should do that, but sayin' it and doin' it are two different things. You, on the other hand, seem to be having no problem whatsoever."

I was stunned. All the anger left me, and I found myself feeling kind of guilty for yelling at him.

"Well, why didn't you say something?" I asked, my voice much softer now. "I wouldn't have continued egging you on if—"

"I would have at some point today," he snapped. "Though, you made it a lot easier when you had Jones call me to my own damn office."

I could feel my face heating up. I was definitely blushing.

"So are you saying we don't have to pretend to hate each other?" I asked him, suppressing my hope for a couple seconds more. He used his left hand to fiddle with a stack of papers on his desk, his eyes focused on them as he spoke.

"Well, it's a bit more complica—"

"Listen, _Thaddeus_," I blurted, "either you treat me like a grown woman or let's just forget this. I want to be with you—isn't that enough?"

At my bold statement, his head shot up and gave me a look of surprise. His eyes fell again as he swallowed. I stared at him, waiting for some kind of verbal reply. This was it.

His eyes lifted again and locked on mine. The corner of his mouth curved upward.

"Yes, Ma'am."

* * *

He didn't give me a moment to speak, instead using his hand to push himself off the desk and towards me. Within a second, his face was inches from mine, his left arm wrapped around my back, the sling pressed tightly against my chest. Our eyes locked and I was able to see the green and brown hues in his eyes just before he closed them and began to lean forward.

I leaned forward in turn and met his lips, which were surprisingly soft and full. He turned his head to deepen the kiss and I felt a chill go up my spine at hearing a faint low-pitched rumble from his throat. This was really happening. I wrapped my arms around his body and pulled him towards me, feeling his muscles under his clothing and realizing how solidly built he was. All the while, my heartbeat sped up two-fold and thudded against the sling on his arm.

Unlike his methods of propositioning, Thaddeus Harris had quite the expertise in kissing, and his full lips made him that much better. He slowly turned us around as we continued to kiss, until I felt the back of my thighs ram up against the front of his desk. The piece of furniture made a loud squeaking sound against the floor, causing him to pull away and frown at the floor.

"We gotta get back," he said. It was then that I saw the flushing in his face and that his lips looked even fuller than they had before. Not only that, but he was breathing hard. He moved toward a chair in his office and sat down quickly, crossing his legs. I found myself grinning at the implications of that action.

"That was very nice," I murmured, feeling rather light-headed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he hastily replied, flashing me a mischievous look and biting his lower lip for a moment. "Now, April, we don't gotta pretend we hate each other, but we also can't go doin' _that_ in front of 'em, okay?"

I nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course," I said. "And I'll be a good cadet from now on, so you can rest easy."

"Atta girl," he replied, slapping his leg as he watched me from his chair. I raised my eyebrow and cleared my throat. Girl? I was definitely no spring chicken-I was a 34-year-old woman training to be a police officer. He seemed to understand the meaning behind my look and stood up once again. He used his left hand to lift his police hat briefly off his salt-and-pepper hair, and smiling, gave me a little bow.

"I mean, yes, Ma'am."


	34. A Fateful Day

**A/N: Not many chapters to go now! Thank you charley vandra, Shelle007, and Katrina Connors! I hope you enjoy this latest installment! I'm sorry it's been awhile-I'm in a transition between jobs and it's hard!**

**CHAPTER 34: A Fateful Day**

* * *

I walked back to the cafeteria with only five minutes left to spare for dinner. I snuck over to the buffet line and picked up some food before being waved over to the table with Stiner, Mullers, and Manson.

"Where in the world have you been?" Manson asked, blinking up at me. "We thought maybe you sat at another table."

I didn't know how much to divulge at this point in time. Perhaps I'd play it by ear. I wanted Lieutenant Harris to set the precedent for how he/we would behave in front of the squadron.

"I had to talk to Lieutenant Harris," I replied, sitting down and immediately beginning to cut up what looked like mashed chicken. "I wanted to apologize to him for embarrassing him today."

"I thought that was pretty funny," Stiner commented. "Finally he gets to be embarrassed, instead of us. That really kicked ass."

My eyes went to the table as I flashed a closed-mouth smile, saying nothing in reply. I no longer wanted to pretend like Harris was the enemy.

While I was contemplating how the evening would unfold, Gertrude approached me at the table holding a note.

"Your parents sent over this message," she said, shaking the note in her hand but not offering it to me.

"What's it about?" I asked, staring up at her from my seat at the table.

"Seems to be important," she replied. Gertrude really sucked at divulging completely. She stuck out her hand, presenting me with the piece of paper. "Here. I hope you're not in too much trouble."

I took the note from her, looking up at her with confusion. Mullers, Stiner, and Manson could only stare at me. What was Gertrude talking about?

* * *

I didn't have to wait long to find out what my parents wanted. The note was to remind me of the court date for the conversion charge that Travis was suing me for. Shit—that was _tomorrow_! All this hubbub with Lieutenant Harris had made me forget about my own life and problems. Not only that, but I'd never gotten to follow up with Harris's lawyer 'friend' who'd turned off the lights in his office when Harris had knocked on the door on Thursday night.

"What's the note about, if you don't mind me askin'?" Mullers asked.

"It's a reminder of the date I'm being sued," I replied. Mullers eyes got wide as I kept explaining. I leaned back in my chair, sighing. "Yeah, I took my ex's car and he's trying to sue me. He's probably mad that I got to escape staying in jail and came here instead."

"Did you steal it?" Stiner said, her interest piqued. I remembered when Lieutenant Harris asked me this question when I was in the cell over at the police station. I'd told him something about getting permission, but obviously taking it for good like I did wasn't something my ex wanted me to do.

"I guess," I said, shrugging. "But he's an asshole, so there's that."

"Wow, April, you just blew my mind," she commented. "What made you want to be a cop?"

"It was this or sit in jail," I muttered, embarrassed.

"I had no idea that you…" Manson trailed off. Mullers saved me from more embarrassment.

"So, when's the date?" she asked.

"Tomorrow," I said with a frown. "And I haven't done one damn thing to prepare for this. I'll probably have to move out of my apartment for a couple of months to pay for the stupid lawsuit. I don't even have a job right now."

"What time is the hearing?" Manson asked. "Will you even be able to leave the academy to go to it?"

"The hearing is at 9 am," I said. "I hope I can go. I don't even have a lawyer representing me, so if I don't go, I'll definitely lose."

It figured, right when things began to look up for me, they came crashing down again.

* * *

"You gotta problem?" Harris asked me, stooping down as he looked at me with irritation and concern. I had been sitting glumly on a gym mat by myself, fidgeting while I watched pairs of cadets practicing hand-to-hand combat on the mats. "You're the only one without a partner."

"Yeah," I said, sighing. "Remember that lawsuit thing I was telling you about the other evening, the one you had a lawyer friend for?"

"Right," he said. "What's that got to do with this?"

"The hearing is tomorrow."

"What time?" he said. "You gotta fill out a release form so that your absence from the academy is excused."

I peered up at him, not yet used to the soft tone he was using with me.

"It's at 9 am. So I can go?"

"Course you can," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm sure you'd rather be here than listening to some guy spewing crap about you in front of a judge. I know _I_ would."

"That's true," I said. "It just sucks—and I don't even have a lawyer to represent me so I don't have to go."

"Then it sounds like you don't got much of a choice, if you wanna win the case. We can talk about this later—just make sure to have documentation of your hearing so we can submit the proper paperwork, okay?"

"Okay," I replied, attempting to smile. It didn't work.

* * *

I was finally paired with Brookstone, whose mascara ended up rubbing off on my shoulder somehow. Of course her stupid waterproof makeup would stay there forever. It was awkward doing hand-to-hand combat with someone so ditsy. Neither one of us wanted to actually hit each other, so we pretended to punch and kick while we talked about totally off-topic stuff. I did notice that Mullers was holding her own against Beaner, who she'd been paired up with by Captain Callahan. Bordeaux at first lost to Captain Callahan and then was paired with some other male cadet who he quickly beat.

By the time the hand-to-hand combat practice was over, I was exhausted and anxious. I had to take care of this lawyer thing, or at least have some kind of defense for tomorrow. Otherwise, I might as well not even show up because I'd just lose anyway.

On the way back to the dorms, I walked slowly enough that everyone else passed me and I was the last student leaving the gym. I got back to my room and sat in bed, seriously annoyed. Gertrude hadn't returned from her squadron's activities yet, thankfully.

I let out a loud sigh as I picked up the note again. Why hadn't my parents hired me a lawyer or at least given me a recommendation or two? I was certainly old enough to do it myself, but my parents knew lawyers and they had the money to do it, whereas I did _not_. I had literally twelve hours to spare before the hearing, with no lawyer and no real defense. Would my goofy parents be there to watch me from the audience and give me a little wave when I walked in? I needed nicer clothes—how was I going to get to my apartment?

I'd probably have to quit the academy after this hearing, because how ever much I was being sued for I had to get out and earn. Lieutenant Harris would probably call the whole thing off after that, and I'd be left just as I was, except that much poorer.

Suddenly I heard some comments from out in the hallway as loud footsteps quickly approached.

"Lieutenant Harris—what are you doing in the girls' dorm?"

"I have a newspaper clipping from what you did the other night—wanna see it?"

"Do you need something, Sir?"

"How does your shoulder feel?"

Unintelligible grumbles replied to each of the comments being thrown out. Was Lieutenant Harris coming to talk to me? I couldn't help but smile.

"Oops!" I heard from inside the hallway, a high-pitched squeal of a woman's voice. "I dropped my towel!"

"Ho-ly shit!" Harris yelped, having apparently seen whatever the sleazebag had revealed. "Cover those up—you tryin' to give me a heart attack?!"

I shook my head at the desperation of whoever that was as I heard a knock at my door.

"Come in," I said, smiling once again.

Harris opened the door looking disturbed.

"Jesus—you sure got some… interesting people living here," he said, making a face at the hallway. He shut the door behind him and moved into the room, looking relieved.

"I've been thinking about your hearing tomorrow. Lemme ask you a couple of questions about this so-called _car_."

"Okay," I said. "Did you get a hold of that lawyer?"

"Just a second. All I wanna know is where the car is now. Did you return it to him?"

"No, it's at my apartment, I think. They arrested me while I was at home."

"Wait—you tellin' me they didn't tow it away?"

"Right. It's still sitting in my apartment's parking lot."

Harris gave me a big smile.

"That's it, Carnegie. That's the ticket."

"What's the ticket?"

"You return the car, and he'll drop the lawsuit."

I blinked several times with confusion.

"Really?" I asked. "That's it?"

"If you want, I can go with you to the courthouse tomorrow. I presume you don't have a ride there or back to the academy, am I right?"

"Right," I said. "I need better clothes too, but those are at my apartment."

"I'll take you there tomorrow morning at 7:30. Don't wanna be late for the hearing. You got keys to the car?"

"Yeah."

"Does it run?"

I nodded.

"Good—'cause you'll be driving that. I'll drive the squad car there. We'll rendezvous at the courthouse."

He seemed confident but I wasn't exactly sure.

"Is this actually going to work?"

"If it don't work, I'll speak on your behalf. Believe me, your ex won't know what hit him."

"Thank you so much," I blurted. "You don't know what that means to me."

He gave me a little nod of the head but said nothing.

* * *

After sleeping in the outfit I would be wearing tomorrow morning, I quickly shut off the alarm I'd set for 6:45 am so as not to awaken Gertrude. Harris was to meet me at his car at 7 and then we'd be heading back to my apartment so that I could change and get the car.

Gertrude had interrupted Harris and me as we talked in the dorm room the night before, but thankfully we had discussed the specifics of tomorrow morning. Once she'd arrived, towering over Harris, he had quickly left after muttering unintelligibly. Afterward, I was purposely as vague with Gertrude as she was with me in explaining why my male squadron leader was in my room.

When I arrived at his car the next morning, he was grimacing.

"Let's get a move on," he muttered, looking uncomfortable in his dress uniform. He wore a formal-looking police hat as well as a black tie and white dress shirt under his uniform, which had Lieutenant's stripes on the arms and shiny gold buttons down the front. Over his uniform, his sling was quite obvious. I wondered how he was able to dress himself with the use of only one arm. I figured he must have had to wake up far earlier than I had, to be so spotless and clean-shaven. My appearance, on the other hand, was scruffy, being as I'd slept in the outfit I was currently wearing. He didn't look impressed.

"Put your seatbelt on," he mumbled gruffly.

"Good morning to you too," I replied sarcastically.

"I had to get up at five thirty for this crap," he growled, shifting the vehicle into reverse by leaning awkwardly over it to reach it with his left hand. "And let's just say I'm not happy about it. Why did you have to go and steal a car, anyway?"

"You're the one who volunteered to do this," I said as he backed up the vehicle. "You could just as well drop me off at my apartment and go back to the academy, or just leave me stranded here to lose the case and quit the academy."

"Listen—I said I'd do this," he grumbled, shifting to go forward. "But I didn't say I'd be _happy_ doing it."

"You know, this is the first time we're really going to be totally alone since we talked in the supply room, and you want to spend it being angry. I can think of better things to do, but okay."

His head turned sharply to face me and after a couple of seconds of staring at me, he exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders relax somewhat.

"For one, I could have done your tie for you," I added. "I don't know how you managed to get dressed with one arm."

"Talent and experience," he replied, turning to face forward again. "Or it might just be a clip-on." I could see a little smile on his face at the statement. Most likely as a way to avoid talking to me, he then flipped on the radio. Of course it wasn't music; it was some kind of news station.

"….under way in the case against a former Mayor involved in a string of burglaries committed in the Wilson Heights district…. A verdict is expected sometime today. Stay tuned for the latest updates."

Wow. We'd caught the tail end of a statement about the very trial where Lieutenant Harris had testified. It didn't take long for Harris to react to the information.

"Great," he scoffed. "If he gets off, I'm the next one under the magnifying glass; mark my words," Harris muttered, shaking his head. "If that happens, my goal of being commandant of the academy will be done. Hell, my entire career in law enforcement will be over."

* * *

"Your Honor, Miss Carnegie has the keys to the Corsica right here and she is willing to give the car back to the defendant."

As he stood behind the defendant table in his dress uniform and sling, Lieutenant Harris held up the key ring containing the Corsica's keys and shook them. I saw Tony shifting uncomfortably in his chair at the plaintiff's table and I couldn't help but grin a little.

"This, of course, should lead to a dismissal of the lawsuit, being as the property is back in the plaintiff's possession. No instance of conversion has thus occurred."

Tony sighed loudly, more out of frustration than relief. That made me nervous. Would this defense work? It didn't sound like Tony wanted the car. I didn't blame him, really. It _was_ a piece of crap.

When I'd gotten to the courtroom, Harris hadn't even given me the chance to speak for myself, except to say to the judge that I was present. He'd just snatched the car keys off me, stood up, and boldly recommended the trade. Hell, even Tony hadn't gotten a chance to speak.

"Is the vehicle drivable?" the judge asked.

"Yes, it is, your Honor," Harris replied. "Miss Carnegie even filled it up with gasoline on the way over. It's parked just outside the courthouse."

After Tony went out to inspect the vehicle, he resentfully agreed to drop the lawsuit in exchange for his stupid Corsica. I was secretly thrilled but kept my face neutral for the time being. Finally, this was all behind me! The case was dismissed and I strode out of the courtroom, my head held high, as Lieutenant Harris walked beside me, his baton tucked under his left arm. Never again would I speak to that asshole Tony, let alone touch his crap. That part of my life was over.

"April?"

I turned my head to see Tony behind me, jogging to catch up with me. It figured; I would be forced to speak with him one more time, at least. Lieutenant Harris continued walking so as not to appear suspiciously close to me.

"I was just curious—why'd you bring that injured hero cop to this?" he asked me, looking awkward as hell. "He's the one who killed that burglar guy at the pawn shop the other day, right?"

"Yes, he is," I replied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because normal people get attorneys or you could have just come by yourself like I did," he said. "I wanted the _money_ for that hunk of junk out there—not the car. You bringing that… famous cop made it weird to say no."

I didn't know what to say to that. Evidently having Lieutenant Harris there had been a smart idea. I suppressed a grin.

"Goodbye, Tony," I muttered.

"Wait—aren't you—"

"Goodbye," I interrupted. I sped up my pace and was soon far enough away from Tony that I wouldn't have to talk to him again. Thankfully, I didn't have to wait for anyone. My parents hadn't bothered to show up at the courthouse, which was a good thing. None of my siblings either. At least Thaddeus Harris had been there for me. He made me win this case.

* * *

As soon as I exited the courthouse, I heard a light honk and saw where Lieutenant Harris was waiting in the squad car. I picked up my pace and jogged toward it, hoping that we'd be long gone before Tony left the building.

"You were amazing," I said as I opened the door. "Thank you so much."

"Did you expect any less?" he said arrogantly. The satisfied grin he gave me following his statement made me forget about his inherent ego. He drove past the courthouse until we were on the main drag through town.

"Tony just admitted to me that your being there and sticking up for me was the reason he took the car back. He said he actually wanted the money for the car."

"Never underestimate a cop in full dress uniform," he remarked. "Especially one with a heroic injury. Anyway, it's now nine-thirty. According to my calculations, D-squad is most likely at the obstacle course right now. Breakfast is over."

"If you'd be willing to take a little more time before heading back, I'll buy us some breakfast," I said. "It's the least I can do."

He seemed to be game for that.

"And then?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Are you saying you'd stay away from the academy even longer than that?" I squawked. I'd never expected him to be okay with playing hooky.

"It'd have to be a good reason," he admitted.

I gave him a playful smile as I reached over and touched his leg. He watched my hand as it rested on his thigh, his eyebrows quirking up when he heard me speak. That was a good sign and I grew bolder as I watched him stare at my hand.

"Would, uh, sex be a good reason?" I asked.

His eyes shot up to mine and he licked his teeth before grinning at me.

"You a mind reader?"


	35. Dirtbags

**A/N: Finally some action in this chapter! Thank you to those who reviewed the last frustrating installment! This is the final chapter! Please let me know what you think!**

**CHAPTER 35: Dirtbags**

* * *

Lieutenant Harris and I went through a McDonald's drive-thru and bought coffee, a couple of Egg McMuffins and a few Sausage McMuffins. When Harris continued to drive out of the McDonald's without pulling over into the parking lot, I was confused.

"Wait—aren't we going to stop and eat?" I asked, fumbling with the bag of food he had handed me. "You can't drive and eat that."

"That can wait," he replied. "Go ahead and eat yours—right now, food's the _last_ thing on my mind."

I smiled as I pulled an Egg McMuffin out of the paper bag and began unwrapping it. I sunk my teeth into the breakfast food as I watched the scenery fly by. The last time I'd gone to Harris's house had been to switch into the Corvette on our way to the Friday night party at the game lands. It was incredible how a mere week and a half had completely changed the relationship between us.

"Aren't you going to turn on the radio?" I asked him, my mouth half full of food. "Maybe the verdict has come back."

"Nah," he said. "I'm gonna enjoy today. Hearing that my career is essentially over would kill the mood I got going on."

"Why do you think he'll be found not guilty?" I asked. "I for one think he's guilty."

"Great, but you're not on the jury. I think we got better things to do than listen to the damn radio all day. The verdict won't be going anywhere in the meantime."

He winked at me then. And with that, the concerned look on my face turned into a smile.

* * *

This time, when we pulled into the driveway of Harris's tan ranch house, the purpose for our visit was entirely different. I noticed again his lack of embellishment of the house—not a bush or flower in sight. It sat on a cul-de-sac, slightly further away from the other houses lining the street.

I moved to open the door, but Harris stopped me with a guttural _uh uh_ noise.

"Lemme pull into the garage first," he said, turning off the car and jumping out on his side. He opened the garage door and got back into the car to pull it in. It was a smart idea that would ensure that none of his neighbors saw him playing hooky.

When he put the car into park, I again reached for the door.

"I'll get the door for you," he offered, quickly getting out of the vehicle. I was touched by his chivalry. There was a sharp disconnect, however, between the way he treated a love interest, and the way he treated cadets. How was he going to balance this—and more importantly, how was I going to handle this?

"Here you are, Ma'am," he said, interrupting my train of thought as he stood by the door with his left arm extended invitingly. I noticed that his accent became thicker when he was outside the academy.

"Thank you," I replied, getting out of the car as femininely as I could manage in the skirt and blouse I'd changed into for the hearing. After I'd moved away from the door, he shut it with a smile.

"I was just wondering, where are you from?" I asked him then, hoping to know the source of his pleasant southern accent. At his raised eyebrow, I clarified. "Like, the state?"

"Texas," he replied. "Port Arthur, to be exact."

"Where's that? Texas is a pretty big state."

"Well, it's real close to Houston and the Louisiana state line. Why do you ask?"

"You have such a nice accent—just wondering where it's from," I said, feeling a blush coming on. "And I think I _should_ know a little about my… well, you know…"

"Boyfriend," he finished. "Here. Lemme get the garage door, then we can go inside."

* * *

As I walked across the threshold into Harris's house, I noticed immediately a giant glass case on the wall displaying antique firearms surrounded by pictures of the graduating classes of the police academy… up until 1983.

"What happened to 1984 and after?" I asked, pointing at the pictures while realizing that I was getting off-topic. Even so, I was extremely curious.

"Beginning in '84, the mayor forced the academy to accept any dirtbag with a pulse. As you can imagine, this greatly decreased the caliber of our graduates. Now we got porkers, sissies, ex-cons, and women in uniform. I only count the good old days."

And with that statement, the mood in the house instantly changed, at least on my part.

"Hey, I resent that," I countered, putting my hands on my hips. "Sounds like you just called me a dirtbag with a pulse."

"Nevermind that," he interrupted. He used his good arm to lead me away from the pictures, towards a narrow hallway. "We're getting off track."

I allowed Harris to move us down the hallway, but his words had struck a nerve.

"You know what—you wouldn't even have _met_ me if the academy was still all-male and—"

"I know, I know," he muttered, obviously flustered. "I just need to shut my mouth sometimes—let's just leave it at that."

I grimaced. The statement about dirtbags was unsettling because it seemed to actually apply to me. I was a pseudo-ex-con and a woman to boot, and I wasn't physically fit enough to run the obstacle course. I no longer felt very frisky, and instead felt an ugly realization dawning on me. Harris hadn't exactly corrected himself by saying his statement wasn't true; he just had tried to change the subject. I stopped in place, which caused him to stare at me in surprise.

"You know what? You're right, at least about the dirtbag part," I muttered. He squinted at me.

"What ?"

"I _am_ a dirtbag," I said. "Look where we just came from: a courtroom where I was being sued for stealing a car. I'm a loser."

At this point, I felt worse than I ever did at my typical 'sad' stage of drunkenness. Maybe I was going to be on the rag soon, by how majorly my mood had changed in a mere matter of minutes. Why had I noticed those damn academy class pictures, anyway? It didn't matter, because I was on a roll now—my rant wasn't over.

"Now, you know that's not true," Harris said carefully, looking at me as if preparing for me to bolt. I wasn't finished with my spiel. I held my hand out, using my fingers to count off the reasons why I sucked as a person.

"Let's see: I've been arrested three times, and I'm 34 years old, unemployed, a college dropout, and living in some crummy apartment I can barely afford. I'm an embarrassment to my family name. I can't even run a damn _obstacle course_ without making a fool of myself."

Harris could only stare at me, his face half-confused and half-sympathetic. It was an odd expression. What was most noticeable was that he had nothing to say.

"Let's face it; I'm a nobody and I shouldn't even be here," I said, throwing up my arms, feeling my eyes watering. "I should still be in that jail cell."

"Now, hold on just a minute there," he said, holding up his hand to halt my speech. "You really think I got a spotless record? I'm the only cop in this precinct—hell, maybe the only cop _ever_—who _always_ gets taken hostage and has to be rescued every damn time."

"If you get taken hostage a lot, it's only because you put yourself out there," I replied, smiling weakly. "Just like that pawn shop, when you ran at the getaway car—you're fearless." He didn't seem to be totally convinced of that.

"Either that, or stupid," he said, grimacing. "Let's see what else I got on my record. A gigantic goddamn diamond was stolen right from under my nose. I got launched right into a horse's ass. I had a bullhorn glued to my face for days. I had to be rescued from whitewater by the fattest son of a bitch to ever join the academy. I made a complete _fool_ of myself on a high-rise assignment—the tape of me begging for my life was played for every asshole in Lassard's group to laugh at. The way I handled the Wilson Heights gang robberies convinced people that I was on _their_ side. And just lately, I made a fool of myself in front of the whole academy with that Russian dickhead." He shook his finger at me. "Don't you talk to me about being a nobody."

I gaped at him for a couple of seconds after he had finished talking, amazed and taken aback by his startling confession. I'd never expected such a seemingly arrogant man to reveal such embarrassing information about himself. I hadn't even heard the horse's ass story yet. Of course, _I'd_ never revealed to anyone else what a lifelong failure I was, either.

"Huh. Can't believe I just said all that," he muttered, shoving his hand in his pocket and looking down at the floor.

"I've never said that kind of stuff aloud either," I replied. "Kind of a weight off the shoulders, though, to say it out loud, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he said. "Felt pretty good to purge all that shit. I got plenty more, but at least that was some of it."

I'd bared my soul… and so had he. The thought of that made me feel somewhat better. His eyes rose from the floor and locked on mine.

"I guess that makes us both dirtbags," he muttered, shrugging.

Our bodies made a decision before my brain could even process what was going to happen. We crossed the small space between us and our mouths met, arms encircling the other's back, the arm sling and the buttons of Harris's formal police uniform pressed up against the buttons of my blouse as we made out.

I could hear a throaty grunt as Harris continued to kiss me, using his intact arm to direct me towards what I presumed to be his bedroom. I let him.

There was no way he'd be able to undo his shirt quickly with an arm in a sling, so I began undoing the buttons myself, exposing his white dress shirt as we moved into his bedroom. Thankfully I was good at multitasking. I deepened the kiss as I then began to undo the buttons of the dress shirt. Now all I could see was a white cotton undershirt. Where was he under all these clothes?

I felt his fingers feeling around the back of my skirt and soon he found the zipper. He ripped my skirt down with a satisfied grunt and then pushed me up against the foot of his bed, making me bump the back of my calves on his bed and fall backwards onto the bed.

I watched as he painstakingly slipped the sling off of his shoulder and forearm and pulled his police uniform and dress shirt off, but left his undershirt on. I noticed then that his arms weren't particularly muscular, but they weren't puny, either. He winced slightly as he attempted to straighten his arm.

"Do you want me to help you put the sling back on?" I said. "I don't want you to dislocate your shoulder."

"Nah," he replied, his eyes locked on mine. His eyes moved lower and he pointed at my legs. "But you could remove those… hose."

"What about your belt?" I offered. "I could help you with that." I sat up and reached toward it and he abruptly slapped it away, gripping his belt with his weak arm.

"No, Proctor!" he roared. I blinked and sat back.

"Uh, what?"

Suddenly his face turned bright red and he looked extremely self-conscious.

"What I meant to say was there was an incident at the airport where I thought I was, uh, setting off the metal detector, and Proctor stupidly—"

"I don't care," I interrupted with a smile. I reached forward, grabbing his belt buckle and tugging him towards me. "Get over here."

* * *

I laid under Harris's weight, feeling his heart rapidly pounding in his chest, our fast breaths mingling in our face-to-face position. His body was hot and sweaty and yet the position was comfortable enough to keep for a long time. After I'd taken off my hose, I was surprised when he smiled eagerly at me and then commenced with foreplay, getting me so hot that I begged him to finish us both. Now we were both spent and satisfied, and yet I was a bit sad to know that we wouldn't be able to continue lying together for much longer.

"Was that good for you?" I heard him mumble, his voice low and partially muffled by my face.

"Yes, it was," I replied. "How about you?"

"Hell yeah," he said, letting out a loud exhalation as he answered. "Almost makes me want to just blow off the academy for the rest of the day."

"Really?" Hope welled up inside me. I was totally fine with playing hooky at the academy and spending all day in Thaddeus Harris's bed. And to think, I'd almost forgotten how much I enjoyed sex; it had been so long.

"Yeah, but we shouldn't," he grumbled. "If that damn verdict comes back _not guilty_, they're gonna be looking for me."

"Right," I said. "But what if it's _guilty_? Will they be looking for you?"

"Probably," he said, using his undamaged elbow to support his upper body. "Dorm walls ain't the thickest, so we gotta meet elsewhere next time."

It was then that he leaned down and gently kissed me on my forehead.

"Thank you," he murmured. I was touched by his sweetness. He wasn't finished talking. "…for not telling anyone about this." I squirmed beneath him, surprised at his bluntness.

"Wait—you think I'm going to blab about this?"

"I could be up for a promotion at any time," he explained. "I gotta have a clean record."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, _I_ could call you Captain—you know, when we're…"

"Actually, I'd prefer Commandant," he asserted. "Especially when I'm bending you over Lassard's desk."

I felt a twinge and a throbbing deep inside me, and realized that I was definitely ready for another session.

"When would that be?" I asked, blinking innocently as I lay underneath him. His face took on a look of surprise at that question, and then he grinned.

"Today at twenty-three hundred hours, in dress uniform," he responded. "That work for you?"

I smiled toothily at him and ran my hands along his sides.

"Oh, yes, Commandant Harris."

His eyes widened for a moment, as if something occurred to him. At that same moment, I felt a reawakening of a particular part of him buried in between our bodies. That seemed surprisingly fast for a middle-aged man.

His pupils widened until there was almost no color around them and I could hear his heavy breathing and heartbeat speed back up again as he scanned my face.

"Wanna go another round?" he said, his cheeks flushing. "Seems to be a record recovery."

I was certainly impressed by the man's stamina.

"Are you sure, Commandant Harris?"

He let out a quavering sigh as something pressed firmly against my thigh. He gulped loudly before speaking.

"Yes, Ma'am!"

* * *

By the time we finished another round and redressed, Lieutenant Harris and I returned to the academy at lunch time. We'd worked up quite an appetite in the meantime, so Harris immediately moved for the buffet line.

I saw Mullers wave me down from her table in the cafeteria, most likely curious as to how my morning went. By the big smile that was plastered on my face, I was sure she'd assume I won the case. Well, that and a whole lot more.

"Looks like I don't need to ask how it went," she said. "Did you have to do anything?"'

"I gave him the car back. It was a piece of shit anyway," I remarked.

"It was actually kinda funny today," she noted. "Couldn't check on how your hearing was going, but about ten minutes ago, they announced the verdict in that ex-mayor's case Harris testified for. Did you get to hear it?"

My heart began pounding in my chest. Harris's fate would be decided by this crucial verdict. If the ex-mayor was found not guilty, the cops would surely be looking into Harris next as the ringleader of the Wilson Heights gang activity. However, if he was found guilty, Harris would be off the hook.

"No, I didn't," I said. "What did they say?"

"They found him guilty of all charges," she said with a smile. "Looks like he'll be put away for a long time."

"Oh, thank God," I said, sighing with relief. My day had gotten even better, if that was possible. I couldn't wait for Lieutenant Harris to know.

"Didn't realize you were paying such close attention to the case," she commented. "Look at you; it's like a weight's been lifted off your shoulders."

"Yep," I replied. "It's the best news. Who announced it?"

"Commandant Lassard. Apparently he played a big role in nabbing the guy initially—him and his nephew. The instructors began giving him a round of applause and we all joined in. He was so touched.

"How nice," I said, my mind spacing out. I desperately wanted to tell Lieutenant Harris. He stood in the buffet line, unknowing of this fact.

I didn't get a chance to approach him, because as soon as I considered standing up and leaving my table behind, Captain Callahan strode towards Harris purposefully. I couldn't hear what she said to him, but I knew what she was telling him about. His expression went from its usual grumpiness to that of a relieved smile. I saw him glance at me and wink and realized that I was staring blatantly.

"Earth to April," Mullers said. "You staring at Lieutenant Harris? And did I just see him wink at you?"

"Yeah," I stated dreamily.

"Wanna explain the sudden switch there? I thought you two hated each other," she exclaimed.

"Nope," was all I said.

"You telling me you both like each other?"

"Yep."

"What?" Stiner blurted. "I thought you hated him!"

"I did too!" Manson added.

"Man, this is some _Pride and Prejudice_ shit," Mullers muttered, shaking her head. "Are you telling me you _don't_ think he's an arrogant prick?"

"Sometimes he is," I said, still staring off at him as Callahan shook his hand and looked rather repentant. "But that's okay."


End file.
